#why is this book called the six i was under the distinct impression that there were only three of them 💁🏻‍♀️ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

autumnsart22 · 3 years

Text

Flat Tire: Suna x fem reader

SMUT 🔥🔥

This is technically a part 3 of First time in College: Suna x reader, but I decided to make it a stand alone. You can read the other parts if you’re interested. Also, I left the ending kind of open, so I would be super happy to continue it if anyone wants me to...

P.S. I feel like it’s rare to have someone look this fine when it’s NOT EVEN FANART BRUHHHH

Suna was late to pick you up for your “date” (was it a date? He hadn’t made it particularly clear), which wasn’t a good sign. You had spent the hours after your class at 3 pacing around, trying to figure out what outfit to wear, and questioning your whole existence. Your roommate, Kiyoko, didn’t make things any better. When you had explained how you had met Suna at the frat party, how sweet he had seemed, her mouth had dropped and her eye practically popped out of her head.

“Out of every guy you could have picked, you chose Suna Rintarou?” She sighed, burying her face in her hands.

“What? Is he...bad?” You asked, suddenly nervous. You liked Suna, from the amount you knew about him. He seemed like he was pretty arrogant, and also kind of lazy, but he was nice to talk to. You knew you’d be disappointed if he ended up being a piece of shit.

“He’s just...you know…” Kiyoko was clearly trying to find a way to phrase it. “He’s ditched a lot of different girls, sleeping around and then never speaking to them again, that sort of thing. Typical frat boy behavior.”

You sighed, since it was exactly what you expected. “Well, it’s fine. We’re just going to eat, so I’ll just get it over with and then be out of his life.”

“Ok. I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

You waved her off. “I know, I know. Don’t worry.”

Unfortunately, six o’clock came and went, and no sign of Suna; suddenly, despite my dismissal, “getting hurt” seemed like a distinct possibility. By 6:30, you ditched your shoes and coat, crashing on your bed and starting the newest episode of Attack on Titan. Fuck Suna and his dumb pretty face. You were good with Levi.

Halfway through the episode, there was a knock at your door, and your muscles tensed so suddenly that your neck twinged.

“Uh, who is it?” You yelled as you rolled out of bed, stumbling to the door.

“Su--” You opened it and blinked up at the guy outside in shock. “--na.”

“Oh.” You raised your eyebrows. He was wearing black pants and a black crewneck, a white collared shirt underneath.

“Hi,” he panted, completely out of breath. “Sorry.”

You snorted. “Um. It’s late.”

“I got lost.”

“Did you now?”

“And I had to go back home to change.”

“You could have texted me!”

“...I don’t have your number.”

You opened your mouth, but you had nothing to say to that. “Well, fuck,” you muttered, turning away.

“Sorry. You’ll still come to eat though, right?”

You wanted to curse him out for making you wait so long, for making you think he ditched you for the night and forgot.

“Fine. But you’re a dick.”

He grinned lazily, leaning in the door frame as you grabbed your shoes and jacket again, scooping up your purse as you exited your dorm.

“What?” You said as you finally approached him, blushing as you met his eyes despite how hard you tried not to.

“Nothing.”

He led the way to his car in silence, and it was a strange mix of awkward and comfortable. Suna didn’t seem like the type to be super talkative, but at the same time you felt like you should be making conversation.

When you got to his car, you took a deep breath to calm yourself down before sliding into the passenger seat. Of course, the whole car smelled like weed, but it wasn’t overwhelming and honestly kind of nice.

“So, you’re a freshman?” He asked, pulling out of the lot, and you nodded.

“Are you?”

“Sophomore.”

“What’s your major?”

“Undecided, but I enjoy photography. Not the best career path though…”

“Wait, that's really cool.” You glanced at him, impressed. “What do you take pictures of?”

“Anything, but people mostly.”

“You’ll have to show me some time.”

“Only if you forgive me for being late.”

You crossed your arms, snorting. “Fine.”

The car suddenly jerked, and you gasped as you heard a rush of air coming from the rear.

“Oh...fuck,” Suna muttered, pulling off to the side of the road. “I think we just got a flat tire.”

“How????”

“How am I supposed to know?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Do you want me to call someone?”

“Hang on, I might be able to…” He hopped out of the car before finishing, and you sat in silence as you heard him walking around to examine the damage. A moment later, he re-entered the driver's side with an annoyed expression on his face. “Yeah, it’s flat. Shit.”

“What are we going to do?”

“My friend has a spare tire, but it might take him a bit to get here. Are you ok with waiting?”

You shrugged. “Sure.”

“Sorry, this is the worst night ever.”

“It’s not your fault. We can just hang out until your friend gets here.”

Suna’s expression didn’t change, but you thought you saw his shoulders relax a little. In the darkness of the car, you couldn’t help but admire his profile as he turned off the car and shoved his hair back from his face.

“What?” He said, turning to look at you, and you went beat red.

“Huh?”

“You’re looking at me.”

“N-no.”

“Really?” He smirked, leaning towards you slightly.

Your heart stuttered, practically stopping at you stared into his pretty yellow eyes. Oh my god...

“I--”

Before you could answer, Suna sat back, still smirking. A car drove past you on the dark street and you used the momentary distraction to try and get ahold of yourself.

“So, what do you want to do?” Suna asked, and you looked over at him again.

“You say that like we have another option besides just sitting here.”

He shrugged, pulling a THC pen from his pocket and holding it out to you. You took it from him, hitting it twice before handing it back.

“What’s your major?” He asked, holding the pen to his lips.

“Political economics right now, but I’m considering switching to english since I like writing.”

“What do you write?”

“All kinds of things, although mostly short stories. I’ve been working on my second novel too, and the first draft is almost done. It’s really shitty right now, but hopefully once I go back and edit it…”

You paused, suddenly embarrassed. Were you rambling? You could talk about writing all day, but most people didn’t care enough to keep listening beyond the first sentence.

“Yeah?” Suna said, waiting for you to finish.

“Oh. That was it.” You glanced away, waiting for a subject change.

“What’s your novel about?” He paused, laughing under his breath. “I can’t believe you wrote a fucking book. That’s so sick.”

You couldn’t help the smile that pulled at your face, and you covered your mouth with your hand. “Ok, short version--”

“Short version? Why? We’ve got plenty of time.”

You opened your mouth, and then paused. No one actually ever asked to hear about your writing beyond just the basic formalities, and you couldn’t believe how happy it made you feel that someone seemed genuinely interested.

Deciding to abandon all pretenses, you jumped into a long scale explanation of the plot you were writing, all while Suna watched your face intently.

“...And yeah! That’s basically it,” you finished finally, smiling brightly at him. “Sorry if that was super boring, I didn’t mean to…”

“Can I read it when you finish? I’m invested.” He took another hit off the pen while watching you, and you smiled to yourself. How was this boy saying all the right things? Fuck.

“I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“Depends on my mood.”

“What can I do to guarantee you’ll let me read?” He reached over to grab your chin, stroking your cheeks gently with his thumb, and your breathing hitched. “Ha, you’re cute when you’re all red like this.”

You snorted, but didn’t pull away. “Flattery doesn’t work on me.”

“Really?” He leaned closer to you, until your faces were only inches apart in the darkness.

“N-no.” Your heart thundered.

“Hm,” He murmured. “I’ll have to try to change that.”

And then he was pressing your body back into the seat and kissing you hard on the mouth.

Oh my god, it was heaven. He tasted like minty chapstick and weed, and you sighed, your mind going blank.

His long fingers tangled in your hair, dragging you closer, and a low noise came from his chest as you opened your mouth. You pulled away after a long minute, gasping, which only prompted Suna to trail open mouthed kisses down your neck.

You leaned your head back to give him easier access, letting out an embarrassing noise as his hand slid under your shirt to trace the skin of your stomach.

You weren’t a virgin, but you had only had sex with one person--your previous boyfriend--and it had been less than satisfactory the few times you had done it. Apparently you had missed the physical contact more than you thought.

You sat up, and Suna pulled away, his eyes a little glazed over and his hair messed up. God damn, he was fine.

He smiled slowly as your eyes trailed down his chest to his crotch, and he slid his seat all the way back so there was enough room for you to crawl into his lap.

It was awkward, and you slammed your head on the roof of the car hard enough to make you yelp in pain as you tried to maneuver over to him. But any embarrassment you might have felt washed away as he burst out laughing and kissed you gently on the mouth.

You tugged at his shirt in annoyance, suddenly pissed that it was still in place, and he awkwardly pulled over his head.

“Pushy,” he muttered, and you flicked him hard on the forehead.

“Dick.”

“No need to beg, sweetheart. You’ll get it soon.”

You swallowed hard and your thighs clenched in anticipation, even as you rolled your eyes.

Any annoyance you had flew from your head as he slipped a hand down your pants, the other coming up to tangle in your hair. Instead of touching you where you needed him to, he traced along your inner thighs, kissing your collarbone.

“Suna,” you mumbled, suddenly impatient as you shifted your hips, and he grinned into your skin before you felt his fingers shove the thin fabric of your underwear aside.

“Oh go--” Your eyes rolled back as he slowly eased a digit into you, wiggling it as he slowly widened you up.

“S-Shit,” you gasped, your hands grasping at his shirt as he added another finger, circling his thumb at the same time on your clit.

“You’re already so fucking wet,” Suna grunted, kissing up your neck as you began to roll your hips, riding his hand.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, but he grinned wickedly and immediately pulled his hand from your pants. Your eyes widened in outrage, but you stopped when he held up his fingers, covered in your juices, and shoved them in his mouth. You almost came from the sight, clenching around nothing as your heart stuttered.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he mumbled, and you felt his dick twitch beneath you. It was hard as a rock in his pants, and you could feel it straining against the fabric. It was pretty big, if the bulge was evidence enough.

You quickly fumbled to get his zipper open, needing to have him inside you right now. His fingers were good, but you needed...

Suna smacked your hands away. “Take off your pants,” he ordered, and you obliged, choosing to ignore how hot you got at his commanding tone. You could unpack that later.

It was a struggle to get the fabric off in the small space, but finally you were back in his lap, and he was holding your hips, and his (long) cock was free of his pants. You reached down, stroking it slowly and rubbing your thumb gently across the tip, spreading the precum that had gathered already.

“Jesus christ,” Suna said, his voice strained, and he twitched in your hand.

“Jesus wouldn’t appreciate his name being used in this context.”

“He’d be jealous of me right now.”

“You’re definitely going to hell for that.”

“And you’re not? You little slut.” Suna shoved his fingers in your mouth while his other hand fumbled with a condom which he tugged from his pocket. He slid it down over his length with expert speed, clearly having done this many times before, but you shoved the thought from your mind.

Suna held your hips tightly as you positioned yourself over him, helping you as you eased yourself down onto his dick. He was larger than your last boyfriend, and it burned for a moment as you adjusted to his size, but Suna held your face and stroked your hair as you breathed through it. “You’re such a good girl, taking my cock so well,” he groaned in your ear. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

His praise made you clench around him, the pain easing away, and you rolled your hips experimentally. The friction on your clit and almost made you cum right away, and you let out a moan into his neck as your head dropped onto his shoulder. Holy motherfucking shit how did it feel so good...

Suna buried his face in your chest as you began to ride him, shifting your hips slowly as you felt his full length hitting points you didn’t even know existed. When he ran his tongue along your nipple, you let out an embarrassing noise and fucked him faster.

Your legs began to burn, but Suna took over easily, thrusting up into you while you held onto his shoulders. Your moans and the sound of sex filled the car, and your hand slid across the fogged glass of the window as you grasped for anything to hold onto. You were so close to coming, you could feel it all the way down to your toes.

“You’re doing so good, baby, you feel so good,” Suna groaned, reaching down to rub your clit, his tongue circling your nipple at the same time, and with his voice in your ear, it was enough to finally send you over the edge. You clenched around him, your mouth opening in a silent scream as you came hard all over his cock. It was easily the best orgasm you’d had during sex, possibly the best ever. Suna didn’t take his eyes off you as you came apart, relishing in how it was him who put that expression on your face, and how only he was seeing you like this right now.

“And you said flattery doesn’t work on you,” Suna laughed, but you couldn’t even make yourself glare at him.

“Idiot.”

You panted as you came down from your high, but Suna still wasn’t finished. You could tell he was getting close by the way his pace picked up and how he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him as he thrust up into you. His groans were deep and sexy in your ear, making your overstimulated clit throb as your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders.

“F-fuckkkk…” He panted, kissing you again and shoving his tongue in your mouth. He held onto your hair, tangled around his fist, forcing you to lean your head back as he created hickies all along your throat.

He finally came with a groan, his cock twitching as he held onto you tightly, head falling on your shoulder. You both stilled, panting, and you couldn’t help the slow smile that tugged at your lips. For a moment you were too tired to move as you felt his dick soften inside you, so you gently stroked his hair instead.

“Are you ok?” He murmured, finally lifting his head to meet your eyes. His cheeks were flushed, his hair a wreck, but you were sure you didn’t look much better.

“I’m great,” you said, smiling. “Are you?”

Suna blinked, looking dazed for a moment, but he nodded.

You shifted, trying to get off his lap in the most graceful way possible, but your back slammed against the wheel and the car honked loudly.

“Jesus!” You cursed, flinching, and Suna rolled his eyes.

“You just woke the whole neighborhood.”

“Ugh,” you glared at him as you pulled on your pants, readjusting your shirt to cover your chest once again.

The car suddenly lit up as headlights pulled up behind you, and you whirled to face Suna.

“Is that your friend? Wait, where’s your shirt?!”

He wasn’t listening, casually tugging it over his head as he opened the driver’s side door. You heard a door slam from behind you, and then a guy with grey hair and dark tips leaned down to wave at you from Suna’s side.

“Hi. Sorry it took so long, but I have the tire.”

“Thanks,” Suna nodded, and then gestured to you. “Kita, this is Y/n L/n. Y/n, this is my friend Kita Shinsuke.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” you said, but you felt your stomach drop as Kita’s eyes went to the fogged windows, where your hand print was still visible.

“Yeah…” He raised his eyebrows. “Nice to meet you too.”

Suna crossed his arms, looking bored. “Wanna help me change the tire?”

The two boys left you alone as they went to swap out the flat, and you worked on trying to get your face to stop burning. By the time Suna finally got back, you felt decently less embarrassed; he probably did this all the time, so for Kita, it was definitely nothing new. He probably wouldn’t even remember your name.

“Hey,” you looked over at Suna in surprise as he slid back into the driver’s seat and gently grabbed your face, kissing you slowly.

“What was that for?” You sighed when he pulled away.

He shrugged, smirking. “Are you still hungry?”

Part 1

Part 2

#holy shit i love him #ive never blushed harder than while writing this #mad butterflies omg #smut #suna #haikyuu suna #suna x reader #suna rintaro x y/n #suna rintarō #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyu x reader #fanfiction #fandom #fanfic

77 notes · View notes

isabellitah · 4 years

Text

🤍 HARGREEVES x SIBLING

Title : ...well then

Pairing : none but this focuses on your relationship with Ben 🤍

Warning : curse words and verbally abusive Reginald

they’re all young here- like, around the age wherein they stopped that bank robbery

no one knows why but their father suddenly started berating all of them for anything and everything under the sun

“Number One, how incompentent must you be to be unable to lead the Umbrella Academy?!”

“Number Two, are knives all you know- can you not speak properly?!”

“Number Three, your power is extraordinary yet incredibly useless as it seems you don’t know when to use them!”

“Number Four, stop being a coward and use your power for what it was meant to be!”

“Number Five, you are not ready to jump to the future. You do not understand the depth of time travelling!”

“Number Eight, if you can’t make something as simple as a water tornado on the pond, how do you expect to be good enough to stand with the others?!”

The worst one off was Ben...

“Number Six, stop looking down! Look straight ahead, have I instilled no manners in you?!”

“Use your powers, Number Six!”

“Stop being afraid of your powers. That fear is all in your head!”

“Don’t be so pathetic!”

And the insults went on and on and on. Every single one of the siblings (minus Vanya who was practicing the violin in her room) wanted to stand up for their brother but was too scared of their father.

They can all see Number Si- no, Ben retreating deeper and deeper into his insecurities and fears the more Reginald listed them out for the entire yard to hear.

Let’s make something clear here, no one’s seen Number Eight mad. Sure she threw a tantrum here and there but those were minor and easily fixed with candy. But the moment Reginald opened his mouth, “Were your siblings in danger and you’re their last hope, they’re as good as dead, Number Six!” and Ben’s whimper and choked sob echoed throughout the silent yard, Eightie spoke up, “Can I say a bad word?”

The sibling closest to her, Ben, was thrown off to say the least. Rubbing his slightly teary eyes with the back of his hand he asked, “I- uh... what?” His eyes darted between his youngest sister and their father. ‘What is she up to?’

“cAn I SAY A BAD WORD?!” your sudden increase in volume startled everyone including Reginald, who immediately regained his composure, but too late, Five saw him. Startled, Ben replied, “uhmm... oka-”

“YOU MOTHERFUCKING BITCH!”

Although they were all born at the exact same time, Number Eight was sheltered compared to the rest of the siblings for the sole reason that her siblings did their best to protect her from their father’s wrath. What they never considered was protecting their father from their sister’s wrath.

Klaus’ eyes widened and he felt a twitch at the corner of his mouth until a grin formed as he watched you torpedo pond water towards your father right at his abdomen. Said father was yelling something but couldn’t be heard as your torpedo blasted him some houses away until you all heard a distinct plop! and splash! carry out.

Luther was torn between helping their father and berating you.

Diego was smiling like a loon.

Allison looked shocked yet you can see the amusement in her eyes.

Five was smiling happily.

And Ben was hugging you while you were shocked because you have never ever before made something so big and powerful. And to think, your first successful water torpedo was tested on your father himself! Ha!

Klaus found himself very happy to be sober- at least he got to remember the day Reginald Hargreeves got dunked into a pool by a girl nearly half his size. Ah yes, if being sober was rewarded this handsomely, he’d be fine with being sober.

“... Well then.”

Everyone’s faces dropped. They forgot Pogo was there with them. Pogo seeing their tensed forms, shook his head and started the journey inside. Without looking back, he called for them, “I’d hurry inside before he comes back. Master Hargreeves probably won’t show himself for the remainder of the day. However, be prepared for harder training tomorrow. Especially you, Number Eight. Now that he knows what you’re capable of, he will exploit it.” and with that said, Pogo shut the door behind him.

All was silent until, “Best day ever. Thank you for that, Eightie. Never knew you were a spitfire.”

Confused on if you should take that as a compliment or insult, you turn to look at Klaus while still in Ben’s arms, “uhh, thank you?” You flashed him a smile that reminded him of sunshine and the feeling of being high- light.

You were in Ben’s room on his bed just cuddling into his side as he read a book. You were content just being glued to his side and hearing his calm heartbeat in the silence of the room.

“Thank you... for standing up for me,”

“You would’ve done it for me.”

Placing his book down, his thumb in between the pages to mark where he last stopped reading, he turned his head to you, “How are you so sure, Tee?”

“Because I trust you,”

Ben was shocked to say the least. You had that much trust in him? He knew you loved all your siblings. You say so everyday. They, including him, love you too. But to think you trust him that much?

Noticing his silence you continued, “and because we love one another. But if ever none of you are there to defend or protect me, that’s okay too. I’ll protect all of us to the best of my abilities. Y’know why, Ben?”

“...why, Tee?”

“Because we’re family.”

One of Ben’s worst insecurities popped up, “But... we’re not.”

You tilted your face upwards to look at him, confused, “What do you mean?” He looked away with a sad look in his eyes, “We’re not family... we’re all adopted by a billionaire because our mothers were bribed with money.”

You frowned for a while before looking back towards his door, gaining your initial position, “Family by bond is stronger than that of blood, Ben... And I don’t care what anyone says. You’re my family and I love you, okay? I’ll always be here for you, even when I’m not around, okay?”

Ben smiled softly at the ceiling of his room, tears slowly gathering in his eyes. Tears of happiness. Of relief. To hear it being said out loud and by someone else brought him such relief and it made him feel light. Like the weight of the world left him.

“Yeah, okay... I love you too, Eightie.”

You looked at him with an amused smirk, one all of your siblings seem to have, “I know.” and quickly looked at a random part of his room.

Ben smirked, placed his book on top of his bedside drawer, placed an arm behind his head, and stroked a hand through your hair.

And just like that, Ben’s insecurities slowly eased with your words and actions. While you, well you just discovered the strength of your power. And you’re currently having a nice nap.

Outside Ben’s door was Allison listening in with a smile, Diego with a disgusted look, and Luther with a contemplating look. Five was leaning against the wall looking at the three while Vanya was, again, with mom. And Klaus was... somewhere.

“Awww that was so-”

“D-disgusting.”

“Oh shut up, Diego-”

“N-no you sh-shut up-p, Nu-number O-”

“Don’t you dare call me Number One!”

“Wha-whatchu g-gonna do a-about it, huh?

“We-”

“Nu-number One. Number-er O-one. Numbe-”

“Shu-”

“Will you two quit it?! If Tee wakes up because of your incessant banter, I will drop you both in the middle of nowhere.”

Although intimidated, both brothers snorted at Five, “C-can you e-even carry Luther-er?”

“Yeah- hey!”

“What? I-it’s true.”

“Well-”

And just like that, Five jumped with the two leaving Allison outside Ben’s door, bewildered.

“Hey!”

“F-Five! Y-you can’t j-just leave us h-here!”

With a sarcastic smile, “watch me.” he left his two eldest brothers on the sidewalk a few houses away from their own.

Sighing, they both started the journey to their house. They should’ve known he’d go through with his threat- this wasn’t the first time he’s done this.

“Wait a minute,”

“W-what?”

“What’s incessant?”

“I don’t know?”

“Five mentioned our bantering was incessant, what does that mean?”

“In-interesting?”

“Hmm... Nah, doesn’t sound right.”

And so, on the way home, both brothers filled the silence between them by trying to guess the meaning of the word incessant.

Hearing a semi-soft argument happening near you caused you to wake up a tad disorientated. However, you didn’t move from your position as you were quite comfortable cuddling with Ben while his hand stroked your hair. Listening into the conversation, you deduced that Klaus was in the room wanting to join in the cuddling.

“Klaus, no.”

“But, Benny!”

“No 🤍”

“Oh come on-”

“No, Klaus, you cannot sleep on my b-”

“It’s fine, Be-”

“YAY” without hearing you finish your sentence, Klaus hopped onto the space behind you, right by the wall- squishing you between Ben and himself. He immediately turned to his side, wrapped his arms around your waist and shoved his face to the back of your neck.

“Oof” you were shocked by the speed of his actions but giggled nonetheless.

Ben, on the other hand, was no impressed, “Why, Eightie.” He asked exasperated.

“You love me, Benny.”

“In your dreams.”

“Oh believe me, you do not want to be in my dreams.”

“Nasty, Klausy.”

“Ew, dude. That’s- ugh- tmi”

“You suggeste-”

Not wanting to hear an argument between them, you cut Klaus’ sentence off, “Night Klausy. Night Ben,”

“Night Eightie,”

“Night Tee.”

“Love you guys,” with that mumbled, you felt yourself drift off to sleep with a smile. But not before hearing them mumble it back to you.

You didn’t see it, but just hearing you tell them that you love them brought a sincere smile to their faces, and a light warm feeling to their hearts.

Plop

Reginald Hargreeves was not having a good day.

First, Number Seven’s powers continued to become stronger even while in isolation and this proved to be troublesome. Then the rest of the little brats didn’t show competency during today’s training. And now- now he was soaking wet walking towards his own house. People were looking at him- the eccentric billionaire walking home soaking wet- how humiliating.

Ah yes, Reginald Hargreeves was definitely not having a good day at all.

#tua #the umbrella academy #tua x reader #luther hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves x reader #allison hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves x reader #number five x reader #five hargreeves x reader #ben hargreeves x reader #vanya hargreeves x reader #hargreeves x reader

214 notes · View notes

belphegor1982 · 3 years

Note

not sure if you're doing the prompt list, but parenthood (6) with leonard snart and janet? 👉👈 i'm in love with your characterizations of len and his wife 💕

It took me two weeks, but there it is :D

Parenthood (DCAU)

When she’d been a kid, Janet had – very naturally – assumed that her adult life would match her parents’, or their neighbours: a house, a husband, a dog, a white picket fence, not necessarily in that order. And kids. Like an afterthought, something not really important so much as vaguely necessary.

She hadn’t thought about it until a couple of years or so into her and Len’s marriage. They’d had somewhat rocky beginnings: she’d been fierce, he’d been grumpy, and they’d both been so damn young they hadn’t seen how ridiculous they were, dancing around each other like they weren’t sure they were allowed this… that. ‘Relationship’ was too big a word. Whatever they had, though, they had kept, because it was good and it was theirs. One day it had hit Janet that Len basically only went back to his crappy little apartment to shower; one night they’d been in bed, sweaty and tired and stupid happy, and as Janet reached for the book on her bedside table afterwards while Len scribbled on his ‘heist ideas’ notebook like he’d been struck with sudden inspiration, she had realised in a rush that she wanted the rest of her life to be like this.

“Wanna get married, one of these days?” she’d asked, almost not nervous at all.

Len had stared at her long enough to make her start to regret asking. Then he’d given a small smile, the very rare sort that showed in his eyes.

“Sure,” he’d said, and that was that.

They’d gotten married six months later. Janet wore blue. Her parents showed up, despite the disapproval hanging thick in the air – her father convinced that she could ‘do a lot better than a thug’, her mother ice-cold at the thought of her daughter marrying ‘some two-bit crook’. Len had only invited his sister, a stunning young blonde who’d been friendly to Janet but still appeared put-out that the invitation didn’t extend to her boyfriend.

“He’s a jerk,” Len had said later, making Janet laugh.

“You’re a jerk, Len.”

“Not the same kind. He’s stuck-up. Lisa’s too good for him anyway.”

“Yeah, well. That’s not up to you to decide, is it? It’s your sister’s choice.”

“I know, I just… She deserves better. Better than she got as a kid.”

Janet had looked at him, long and careful, suddenly a little tense.

“Do you think she’s… not safe? With him?”

Len had blinked, then shaken his head.

“Nah, nothin’ like that. You can tell Dillon’s actually good to her. Nothing like…” He had trailed off, something hard and cold and sudden in his eyes like someone had slammed closed a pair of shutters. That had only lasted for ten seconds before he’d shrugged. “I just wish he wasn’t such a dick, that’s all.”

Then he’d abruptly changed the subject, and Janet had followed, because she knew precarious ground when she saw it.

* * * *

Living with someone in the intimate way meant noticing a lot of things about them, more or less willingly.

Len had cottoned on pretty early to her tendency to snap when she was tired or angry, and of holding nothing back then. She also caught him looking at the crisscross pattern of scar tissue on her knuckles from when she’d punched a wall, repeatedly, after the girl who’d been her best friend in school was battered to death by her boyfriend. “I only slapped her around a bit,” the bastard had said, and ten years later Janet still wished that she’d had the guts to punch him instead. She’d finally told Len about it one day, and seen his face go stone and his eyes ice. His cold fury had been comforting.

It went both ways. She noticed things about her husband, too. Like some odd scars she had a feeling he hadn’t picked up in juvie, the trace of a cigarette burn in the hollow of his right shoulder, or the mark – still chillingly precise even years later – of a belt buckle in the small of his back. She wondered whether Lisa had similar scars. Not that she’d ask. She and her sister-in-law didn’t have that kind of relationship.

Janet had a past. Len had a past. That was what being human meant. Sometimes that felt more like dragging a corpse through the dust wherever you went than a happy set of picture-perfect memories, but it was part of the whole package.

The major reason Janet didn’t entertain the idea of kids for longer than a passing thought was because she didn’t want any – for the moment, she told herself, even as she kept forgetting to really think about it. She’s grown up with the distinct impression that she hadn’t been wanted, or had come at an inconvenient time to her parents. The last thing she wanted was to make a kid feel like that.

The lesser reason was everything Len wasn’t saying. He wasn’t crazy about opening up about things either important or trivial, though he did anyway because they both liked to get their point across clearly. But she’d never, ever heard him say anything at all about his life before he’d struck out on his own, a couple of years short of eighteen years old. His sister Lisa was six years younger, and that was all Janet knew. Family, parents, home life – Len didn’t let anything slip. This, combined with the scars and a few odd reactions, carefully hidden under a lot of attitude, told her more than he appeared willing to share.

One day, when he’d been nicely mellowed out by a good score and a shared bottle of the good stuff to celebrate, she had asked him, “Do you ever think about having kids?”

The split-second look he’d given her still haunted her to this day. She had seen him angry, she had seen him silent, cheerful and surly and balking at house chores, but it hadn’t crossed her mind that he could ever be afraid.

“No,” he’d answered curtly. “Why?”

“Just wondering. Kevin from logistics just had his third the other day. Kept asking me when I’d finally get started on my own.”

“Kevin from logistics needs to mind his own damn business.”

“That’s what I told him,” said Janet, and Len smirked. “Anyway, he got me thinking. Turns out I don’t think I want kids. You know, at all.”

The relief on his face was as fleeting as the fear, but just as stark.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I like what we have.” A pause. “You’ve really never thought about having kids one day?”

“Sure I did, once – for about five seconds. Weirdest five seconds of my life.”

She’d given him a look, half amused, half a smile. Relax, Len. You’re not getting interrogated.

“That bad?”

“Look, I don’t… Kids are weird, all right? Adults I can deal with. Besides, all I know is how not to be a father. No way I’m risking—no way.”

That was as close as he ever came to telling her why she’d never even heard Snart Sr.’s first name. But it was enough. They closed the subject and moved on to other things.

* * * *

And then it turned out that Metropolis and Gotham were not the only cities that could boast an actual superhero, because Central City quickly became aware of a lean, young-looking man in a red costume who called himself the Flash and went after burglars and thieves with superhuman speed. Whoever he was, whatever he was, he added an element of danger to her husband’s chosen profession, and Janet took an instant dislike to him and his big smug smile. Then she dismissed him from her mind quickly enough.

Len, though, was a very different story.

While he didn’t like the Flash any more than Janet did, the guy’s addition to the tried-and-true equation of cops and robbers added an edge that hadn’t been present before. Having an actual superhero in town made all of Len’s old research on absolute zero – and tinkering in the basement – not only relevant but useful. He designed a ‘cold gun’ from plans he’d stolen years ago, looking more excited than Janet had seen him in the last eight years, and worked hard to ‘up his game’.

Privately, Janet thought that, for a man who claimed to be as serious about his trade as Len did, creating a brand-new persona complete with parka, visor, and goofy moniker was hilarious.

Not that she ever actually laughed at him. Especially not the one time Len came back from a heist with an armful of cash and a weird look on his face.

“He’s a kid, Jan,” he said when Janet had asked him what could be wrong when he’d clearly got away with the loot unscathed. “He’s a goddamn kid. I don’t think he’s even old enough to drink.”

“What the hell is he playing at, then?” she exclaimed. “This job is not kid’s stuff! What was he thinking, that he could waltz in and play Superman, just like that?”

“I don’t know.” Len took off his visor and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then his eyes hardened. “And I don’t care. I like my job. If this guy thinks he can stop me, then he’d better be prepared to try harder.”

“I got him good today, though,” he said hours later, in the small hours of the night, after Janet’s hands had searched for his, cool and calloused, under the covers.

Something tensed inside in the region of her stomach.

“You didn’t kill him, did you?”

“Of course not,” he snapped, looking annoyed that she’d even ask. Janet’s guts relaxed. “I’m a crook, not a murderer. Besides, you know the second someone offs that guy, Superman or another big hero is gonna show up and turn the city inside out in revenge. It’d be like when a cop gets killed. They close ranks and start shooting indiscriminately.”

“So when you say you ‘got him good’ –”

“I just sent him packin’. Didn’t rough him up more than I would a cop. The kid’s got a mean right hook but he has no idea how real cold works, speed or no speed.”

Janet closed her eyes again and murmured, “Maybe he’ll quit, then.”

“Maybe.” Even half-asleep, she could tell that this ‘maybe’ meant ‘fat chance’.

“So… on the off-chance that today didn’t put him off, what are you gonna do?”

“I was thinking I might hit Drake & Hall Savings on Infantino Street next month.”

“I meant about the Flash.”

Len’s voice was low but certain when he said, “Me too. I’ll just keep doing my job, and if this joker is as serious as he claims to be, he’ll keep trying to stop me. But I’m not gonna drop everything just because of a kid in a onesie and a mask. I’ll just have to find ways to slow him down.”

The last thought that coalesced in Janet’s mind just before she nodded off was Did my husband just become a supervillain?

She fell asleep before the laugh passed her lips.

* * * *

While ‘supervillain’ might have been stretching things – not to mention the word made Janet choke up on laughter – Len’s new approach to the job was certainly different from the one he’d had before the Flash came along. He still refused the label, though, arguing that supervillains had powers, costumes, and delusions of grandeur, while he just had a cold gun, a parka, and banks to rob.

“Okay,” said Janet when she was in a ribbing mood, “what’s the Joker’s power, then?”

This usually earned her a deadpan look.

At least Len didn’t remain the only crook with a gimmick and an eccentric costume for long. Soon her husband had colleagues, fellow not-supervillains, some of whom not only willing to work together but also seemed to actually appreciate it. Their ‘powers’ were not innate, nor did they get them in freaky accidents; like Len, they either stole tech or were savvy enough to design it. And they all rejected the label of ‘supervillain’.

They were ‘rogues’. Or rather, Rogues. And Len – who knows why – took the place of the de facto leader.

Of her husband’s coworkers, Janet got on with Mick Rory the best. She liked his even temper, his slight smile, and the fact that he generally found it easy to keep a level head. Digger Harkness was his exact opposite, and her whole life she could never quite shake off the urge to slap him whenever he opened his mouth. The others were scattered along the scale between those two extremes: some were never quite sure what to do with her (or she with them – apart from making sure the old couch in the basement could be slept on and keeping an eye on their quickly-dwindling stock of coffee and beer packs), while others were more accommodating about having to spend time with ‘Len’s missus’.

One day Janet caught James pilfering one of the cookies she’d baked herself for the next night she’d have to spend alone. He looked so terrified at being caught red-handed that she refrained from rolling her eyes and told him to help himself and share with his musician friend.

She drew the line at pointing out Hartley was too skinny, though. Just because the young man was friendly and polite and, indeed, looked rather underfed didn’t mean she had any right to turn into her Aunt Debbie. She’d rather die first. Besides, she wasn’t the kid’s nanny, was she?

Nevertheless, the cookies proved a success. Like the couch in the basement, like the stocking up on beer packs, like the occasional patching-up of scrapes not serious enough to warrant a trip to the hospital, they surreptitiously became a habit.

* * * *

Over the years, Janet Snart slid smoothly into middle-age never regretting once her decision not to have children. Turned out being a woman, a wife, a friend, and a sometimes kind-of-support to a bunch of Rogues was quite enough.

Parenthood was overrated, anyway.

______________

Hope you liked, @orion-nottson 💜

Timeline notes thingy: Janet and Len met when they were about 25-27 and got married a couple of years later. ‘Dillon’ is of course Roscoe Dillon, the Top, who has a blink-and-you-miss-it cameo in the JLU episode with the Rogues, but since I don’t want to kill him or Lisa, I’m thinking he was her ice skating trainer, they fell in love, and didn’t go into villainy.

Wally was the first Flash of this universe - maybe the second and Jay was a superhero in the 1940s? - since he says “my uncle’s flying in” for the ceremony. Also, when he first pops up in this story he’s not quite 16, while Len is a bit over 30.

...I really overthink these things, huh 😅

#Anonymous #my stuff #rogues #fanfiction #ask reply #my OCs #Janet Snart

24 notes · View notes

rhodeys · 4 years

Note

I wish you would write a fic where tony has accidentally turned into a child and Rhodey has to babysit him Thanks !!

thank you for the prompt! 💞💞

(i may have had too much fun with this)

The thing is, Rhodey's used to being greeted by an empty penthouse every time he decides to check up on Tony. It's precisely the reason why the rest of the penthouse blend into the background while he makes his way to the private elevator that leads to Tony's workshop – the sectional sofa, the mezzanine, the staircase leading to the mezzanine, the kid, the–

Rhodey does a double take.

There's a child in the penthouse - staring back at him like a baby deer caught in the headlights. The child blinks, just once, before brown eyes are back to being impossibly wide over the tiny hand perched upon the glass handrail. He's wearing a black t-shirt that's ten sizes too big for him, the edges of it ending at his knees. His feet are on two different stairs, almost like he'd been in the middle of making his way down before Rhodey conveniently barged in. The child doesn't even move a muscle.

"Uh," is all Rhodey says, eyes flicking around the penthouse in sudden uncertainty before he turns to the boy. "Hey."

The boy continues to stare at Rhodey for five odd seconds, making the older man feel oddly conscious. And then, finally, a careful: "Hi."

"Hey," Rhodey says again, softer now. "Are you alone here?" He scans the empty penthouse once more. "Where are your parents?"

"Why?" The boy is quick to ask, tone changing as his eyes narrow, and Rhodey's never seen a five-six-whatever-year old sound so defensive. "Where are yours?"

Rhodey's taken aback, if only for a brief second, at the sudden shift in tone. Brown eyes are no longer wide, but slitted with something close to suspicion. "They're not–" Rhodey starts. Stops. "I'm sorry. Just–" He turns his head away, still maintaining wary eye contact with the boy, and calls out in the general direction of Tony's bedroom. "Tony?"

"Yeah?" The boy asks.

"No, not– that's my friend," Rhodey elaborates, making a vague motion with his hands to the space around them. "Have you seen anyone else around here?"

"Is your friend's name Tony, too?" The boy asks, slowly continuing to make his way down the stairs, sharp eyes still fixated on Rhodey.

"Yeah. He's–" Rhodey starts, and then something the boy had said registers. "Wait. Too? What's your name?"

The boy finally takes the last step, and it's right then that Rhodey sees the familiar design of Black Sabbath printed across the oversized t-shirt. The sleeves were pulled up and knotted at awkward angles to prevent it from dangling down tiny arms. "Tony," the boy says.

Rhodey's lips part in growing surprise as he takes in the messy waves of dark hair, matched with a pair of brown eyes that shine too bright, the layer of chub across a familiar bone structure, and the all too familiar expression of suspicion that Rhodey was once subjected to in MIT – one that, over the years, had eventually been hidden behind a perfected mask of cool. "Tony."

"Yeah," the boy says, making a face like Rhodey's being stupid. "S'what I just said."

---

"I mean," Rhodey clarifies, pinching the bridge of his nose after Pepper had calmly pointed out through the call that Tony's always been a child. "He's an actual kid. Physically. He's–" he cuts off as he shifts his attention to Tony, who's scowling from the other end of the sectional with tiny arms crossed over his chest. "Do you know how old you are?"

"Course I do," Tony huffs out, eyes narrowing in offense. "I'm eight."

"Eight? Kinda short for an eight year old, aren't you?" Rhodey teases, and Tony's eyes narrow even further. The boy looks away just as his cheeks flush pink at the jab aimed at his stature.

"Wait. Is that Tony?" Pepper's voice filters through the phone. "It doesn't sound like him."

"Gee, I wonder why eight year old Tony doesn't sound like fifty year old Tony."

"How are you even sure it's him? Did you ask Jarvis?"

"Trust me, I'm sure," Rhodey says, deciding against bringing up when eight year old Tony had unashamedly called out 'who's the broad?' the second Pepper answered the phone, which ended with Rhodey fumbling to put the phone off of speaker.

"And Jarvis isn't responding. He must have gone down when Tony did– well, whatever he did." Rhodey sneaks a quick glance at his watch. It's been almost an hour since he walked into this debacle. "He should be back up soon."

"Okay," Pepper says after a heavy sigh. Her calm demeanor doesn't even surprise Rhodey – god knows the pair of them have been through enough and more of Tony's eccentricity. When it comes to Tony, this is just another day for them. "Jim, listen. I'm still in DC, but I'll be there in a few hours." There's distinct shuffling from her side. "Just– stay put. Read him a book. Put him to sleep."

"Put him to–" Rhodey cuts himself off before he can even consider the ridiculousness of the suggestion. "This is Tony."

"And you're his best friend. Which is why I'm sure you'll figure something out." And by thrusting her sheer level of confidence upon Rhodey, Pepper ends the call, leaving him staring helplessly at the phone in his hand. He looks over at Tony, who immediately looks away, defensive hands still folded across his chest in an act of petulance.

Pepper had a point, Rhodey figures. Smaller Tony can't differ much from the real deal. He just has to make Tony talk; keep him occupied. Maybe play an R-rated movie–

"Keep staring at me like that, 'm gonna think you're a pedophile."

"Jesus Christ."

---

They're not even ten minutes into watching Eraserhead before Tony decides it's too unrealistic, and therefore not worth his time.

"What?" Rhodey asks, barely able to suppress the disbelief in his voice. Tony loved this movie – even watched it twice a month, every month, while they were in MIT. Sure, it had Rhodey worried for Tony's sanity at first, but he got around to movie nights soon enough. "You love this movie."

"Nope," Tony says, and that's that.

---

"Aren't you too old to be a babysitter?" Tony asks after spending a whole of five minutes scrutinizing Rhodey with a fairly impressive stink eye.

Rhodey huffs out a breathy laugh. "Tell that to the guy who put me here."

"Maybe I will," Tony says pointedly – sounding like he fully intended to file a formal complaint. "Where is he?"

"You're talking to him," Rhodey says, which shuts Tony up.

---

Rhodey's making a mental checklist of how else he can entertain eight year old Tony who hates Eraserhead – when Jarvis comes online.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Rhodes," Jarvis greets, and Rhodey immediately shoots a silent prayer of gratitude to the AI. On the other side of the sectional, Tony's head jerks up in surprise from where he was fiddling with the StarkTab – eyes darting around for the voice.

"I apologize for my inactivity. My servers may have been affected while Sir was testing the functions of…" Jarvis trails off, and there's a very telling silence that follows – Jarvis apparently having noticed Tony's absence and the kid's presence. Tony's still looking around for the source, and when his attempt turns futile, decides to zero in on Rhodey.

"Mr. Rhodes," Jarvis starts, his words edging on hesitation. "Is that–"

"Yep."

---

Tony takes it upon himself to find out the source of the voice. There's ten minutes of Tony opening and closing doors, crouching under tables, checking behind furniture five times his size, and because Tony - no matter the age – is still Tony, returns to where Rhodey's seated, newfound determination plastered across his face. "Who was that?"

"Who was who?" Rhodey asks, raising an innocent brow.

"The guy who was just talking to you."

"Don't see any guy here."

"I heard him."

"Heard who?"

"The guy!" Tony blurts out hotly, throwing his arms out in frustration as his cheeks flush a shade of red. The movement makes the full sleeves of Tony's undershirt break from the knot Tony had made, resulting in them splaying out like loose wires before they end up dangling flimsily at his sides. Tony pays no mind, and Rhodey tries to pay no mind.

"Which guy?" Rhodey asks, and he can barely contain his grin watching the way Tony puffs his chest, lips parting to make way for whatever childish blabber before they snap shut in annoyance.

His face turns into a scowl as he brings his arms back across his chest, dangling sleeves and all. "Stop pulling my leg."

"Whatever you say, kid."

"Not a kid."

"You're, like, five."

Tony looks like he's about to explode from frustration. "Eight!"

"Full fledged adult, then."

---

"You have a lot of grey hair," Tony speaks up all of a sudden, working on the offense this time.

"You're short," Rhodey answers without missing a beat.

"But I'll grow," Tony says, grinning now, like he'd struck gold. "I'll be taller than you."

"Oh, yeah," Rhodey agrees for the sake of entertaining the kid, deciding against breaking his bubble as much as he'd like to. He adds an enthusiastic "definitely."

Tony, self-proclaimed genius that he is, catches on to the intent. He looks almost giddy with excitement as he crawls over from his place on the sectional to where Rhodey's sitting. "You're jealous!" Tony exclaims, eyes shining in delight. "Aren't you? You're jealous that I'm gonna be taller than you!"

"You got me, kid," Rhodey shrugs, a lopsided smile pulling at his lips. "What can I say? Life can be a– biscuit, sometimes."

"A bitch, you mean."

---

They go through the StarkPad together, not that Tony needed much help anyway, seeing as he already figured out most of how it works by himself. Rhodey gets his fair share of questions anyway, from why do people need such a big screen? to I can watch an entire movie in this?

"Ha, this makes you look even older!" is the first thing points out when Rhodey switches it to the front camera.

"Yeah, yeah," Rhodey says smiling, and in a split second, contorts his face just as a grinning Tony holds up the tablet and takes a selfie of them.

"This is so cool," Tony exclaims in barely contained excitement as he proceeds to take a dozen more pictures of himself, some of which Rhodey accidentally ends up in the background of.

"Yeah, remember my friend Tony? He made it."

Tony perks up, suddenly more interested, and Rhodey thinks he's going to ask more about the StarkPad until– "Is he taller than you?"

Rhodey snorts. "He wishes. Tony used to stuff paper balls into his shoes when we were in MIT. He wears heels now."

"I know MIT! My dad studied there," Tony says, and Rhodey makes a surprised sound, like that wasn't news to him at all. Tony cocks his head, eyebrows knitting as if something just occurred to him. "Wait, how does he wear heels?"

"He gets them custom made into his shoes."

A pause. Then: "And he's still shorter than you?"

"Yep."

"That must suck balls."

"Yep."

---

"You never told me your name," Tony says out of the blue after spending a good few minutes drooling into Rhodey's shoulder while he was dead to the world.

"It's Jim."

Tony shifts, drawing his feet towards himself so he can curl into Rhodey's chest. "That's an old man's name," Tony points out softly.

"Rhodey, then."

"How many names do you have?"

Honeybear, Platypus, Sourpatch– "A few."

"My name is Anthony," Tony says, voice softening even more, as if he'd pass out any moment now. "But nobody calls me that anymore."

"Thought you didn't like-"

"Because when they do, I kick 'em in the dick," Tony finishes, words coming out in soft mumble before he drifts back to sleep.

---

When Pepper walks into the penthouse an hour later and spots Tony snuggled against Rhodey's side, soaking his polo shirt wet with drool, she flashes him a triumphant smile. I told you so.

#tony stark #james rhodes #rhodey #ironhusbands #tonyrhodey #dhsjsjs what else do you tag #drabble #deaged tony #pavi writes #asks #pavi.txt #rhodeytony #missing-tony

185 notes · View notes

angel-and-serpent · 4 years

Text

Aftershock

Unbeknownst to almost everybody, the world had almost ended. It was the kind of thing one should really be informed about, really. Nevertheless, mankind carried on, ignorant of how close they'd come to their end. An earthbound angel and demon, however, were only too well aware of how close their brush with annihilation had been. Not just humanity's, but their own. They had been condemned to death by holy water and hellfire respectively.

And yet here they were, back on earth once again. Not just amongst people, as they had been from the beginning, but with each other.

The walk from the garden bench was charged with emotion. Despite this, nothing of much interest was said between them as they made their way to their destination. They idly chatted, still trying to wrap their minds around the full enormity of what had just happened. They walked side by side as they always had, despite the insurmountable victory they had accomplished. They had yet to put into words what they were thinking, as their thoughts raced by too quickly to be comprehended.

The impressive exterior of the Ritz came into view up ahead. The familiar sense of excitement grew inside them; the mixed emotions of joy and fear of being together in public.

Once the initial reaction had passed, however, Aziraphale did something he rarely did: he entertained new thoughts. The realisation had just begun to sink in.

There was no reason to hide anymore.

A spark inside Aziraphale began to turn into a blaze.

As they entered the lobby together, Aziraphale felt something in his chest rise up. There was the entrance to the restaurant, just as they'd planned. However, his heart tugged in a different direction, one he'd quashed countless times. With each step, his instinct told him otherwise. That same instinct had told him to give away his flaming sword, to shelter a demon under his wing, to protect a unique child in his moment of need, and how to decipher a prophesy to save them both. It had helped him so much over the years, so why shouldn't he just...?

The restaurant host at his podium was within sight. All they had to do was walk over, order a table for two, and...

No.

Not today.

Aziraphale's feet stopped. Crowley noticed the emptiness at his side and turned. "Everything alright, angel?"

Yes. Yes, it truly was.

The host had recognised him across the lobby.

"Ah, Mr Fell!" He called with familiarity. "Will it be a table for two this afternoon, gentlemen?"

Aziraphale opened his mouth to answer... but the words would not come out. He paused for a moment, wringing his hands in contemplation. Crowley looked at him curiously and wondered if he should speak for him.

Finally he replied. "Uh, n-no thank you, John, my dear chap. I'm afraid I've... just remembered some rather, uh, pressing business I should really attend to first. Perhaps later. Cheerio!"

As he turned around to back out, he faced Crowley and gave him a brief yet very distinct look. Crowley understood, to some extent: 'This is important'. He gave the host a shrug, and followed Aziraphale back out to the lobby. If Crowley was unsure what he was doing before, he was even more perplexed when Aziraphale crossed over to the other side. The side they'd never gone to before.

"Excuse me, miss?" Aziraphale asked politely, if somewhat nervously. Both the concierge and Crowley looked up at him.

"Good afternoon, sir. What may I help you with?" asked the woman behind the sleek desk.

Aziraphale barreled on. "I'd... I'd like a room. Please."

He turned slowly to look directly at Crowley, through his glasses. He looked at him expectantly. "...For two."

Crowley's mouth fell open. He looked at Aziraphale, dumbfounded. Aziraphale raised his brows expectantly at him.

"Wonderful, sir. Will that be two beds or-"

"One bed," responded Crowley. He slammed down his very dark and shiny credit card on the counter. He replied to the concierge but faced Aziraphale while he spoke. "The largest, nicest one you've got!" He grinned dashingly, biting his lip.

Aziraphale's heart soared in his chest and he could barely contain his smile.

If the concierge saw their delight, she was too polite and professional to acknowledge it. Instead she tapped away at her keyboard and searched the monitor. "Let me see what we have. I'm afraid we don't have much available for walk-in bookings, but I'll see what I can do..."

Aziraphale flicked his fingers where only one person in the lobby might have seen it.

"Oh, well here we go! We've had a last minute cancellation for a two room suite with king sized bed. Will that be suitable, sirs?"

Both of them were lost for a moment, and had to be asked a second time.

"I'm sorry? Um, uh, YES! Yes, that would be lovely!" Aziraphale managed to get out.

"And how many nights will you be staying?"

They looked to each other, Aziraphale for permission and Crowley for confirmation.

"Let's make it... a week?" Crowley replied. There was a slight noise from Aziraphale's direction that might have been a gasp or a surprised huff.

"Allllright, sirs, bear with me one moment, please, while I put your details into the system. This won't take too long. Would you like your luggage brought up to your room?"

Crowley answered, "No luggage."

Aziraphale nudged him. "Nonsense, dear. Our, uh, suitcases are in the car. No need to bring it up now. We'll bring it up ourselves later, if that's alright?"

"Yes. 'Course," Crowley quickly recovered.

"That's not a problem," replied the concierge, not letting on in anyway if she truly understood the situation. "You can always call through to us at the front desk if you need anything or have any questions. The bellhop will show you to your room. Here's your keycard and a brochure to our available amenities, including opening and closing times of the restaurant."

Aziraphale was about to inform her that he was already well acquainted with the restaurant's times, but he was in a hurry to be on their way.

They followed the bellhop who led them to the lifts. The doors opened and the three of them stepped into the car. The bellhop stood in front of them by the buttons. To Aziraphale and Crowley, two immortals who'd been on earth since time immemorial, it was the longest ride they'd ever had to suffer through.

Aziraphale and Crowley hadn't made eye contact since the front desk. They still stared dead ahead, and silent as could be. What wasn't said was felt, though; the space between them was electric.

Aziraphale saw movement out the corner of his eye. Without even looking down, he knew what it was. Crowley's little finger was secretly reaching for him. Surreptitious as always, but shy and tentative as well. Aziraphale needed this affirmation, too, that this was really happening, and that they were together in this. He, also, extended his own trembling little finger. He felt it brush against Crowley's, desperately ready bridge the gap between them and to entwine-

The elevator car lurched as they reached their floor. Their hands snapped back at their sides as a reflex. The bell chimed, and they stepped out.

They were led down the hall and to their suite. The bellhop showed them inside, pointing out the rooms' features. Crowley sauntered around slowly, regarding the rooms with practiced disinterest. Aziraphale assured the young man that everything looked tip-top, and was perhaps a little too eager to bid him on his way. Finally, he closed the door which locked soundly.

Aziraphale paused at the door, as if he was waiting for someone to come bursting through and interrupt them.

It never came.

They were alone.

They had their privacy.

They had their freedom.

Unsure of what to do next, Crowley sat down on the end of the bed. The silence between them was deafening.

Aziraphale turned to face Crowley.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice unsteady and hushed. "But if I didn't do that... I might have lost all my nerve!"

The space between them evaporated immediately. Crowley instantly threw his arms open wide and Aziraphale rushed into them. They clung to each other tightly; not a space for even a breath between them. However, some things don't need breath. Angels and demons, for example, or expressions of true love.

A lot can be accomplished in a week. God created the World in six days and rested on the seventh. For an angel and a demon, they can slough off the shackles that held them back from being themselves. Walls can be broken down around guarded hearts, and the love within them can finally be allowed to flow freely. They can make the world they always wanted for themselves.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale and crowley #good omens ficlet #ineffable fluff #good omens fanfiction #crowley and aziraphale #my writing #jumping on the bandwagon #me writes too #good omens fanfic #good omens fan fiction

291 notes · View notes

bookish-mbti · 3 years

Text

Some Frasier MBTI types

Scott has gotten me into watching Frasier and these characters are satisfyingly typable, so I wanted to make a post elaborating on the MBTI types of the Crane brothers.

Frasier Crane | ENFJ

Frasier’s functional stack is easily readable and because of it, he is a fantastic example of an ENFJ. The outer world and social structures are what defines Frasier’s reality.

Frasier exists in the outer world of established external structures, measurements of value, and social status. He appreciates things that can be thought of as impressive based on external reference, even such as the items he so values in his apartment: “This lamp by Corbusier, the chair by Eames, and this couch is an exact replica of the one Coco Chanel had in her Paris atelier.” He likes things that are socially recognized to be impressive or renowned.

ENFJs also use auxiliary Ni, and as such, Frasier is very insightful and thrives when guiding individuals towards their best path and potential. His radio show allows him to do this on a broader scale with a wider audience, while also allowing him to fulfill his role in a way noticeable externally within the societal structure he values. Fe-Ni tends to work with groups of people such as a classroom as a teacher, and in Frasier’s case, it is his radio show.

Se is tertiary in Frasier. ENJs, though they are not Se dominant, are often very action-based. This advice from Frasier, in my opinion, exemplifies healthy use of an ENFJ’s functions: “Six months ago, I was living in Boston. My wife had left me, which was very painful. Then she came back to me, which was excruciating. On top of that, my practice had grown stagnant, and my social life consisted of... hanging around a bar night after night. You see, I was clinging to a life that wasn’t working anymore, and I knew I had to do something, anything. So, I ended the marriage once and for all, packed up my things, and moved back here to my hometown of Seattle. I took action. And you can, too. Move, change, do something; if it’s a mistake, do something else.”

Tertiary Se is more noticeable than inferior and ENJs may score surprisingly high on Se, caught between their penchant for deriving meaning and passion for making their dreams realities.

Frasier is sensitive to criticism, which comes from inferior Ti. When he is criticized in a column in the Times with the simple statement “I hate Frasier Crane,” he can’t help but feel as though it is an unwarranted personal attack. Ti is a function based in impartial analysis and criticism of structures or methods, completely independent of people and in conflict with an Extraverted Feeling approach.

Further, after he is sold a false piece of artwork, he is infuriated by the injustice, the blatant lack of regard for ethics. His idealism that people are good, respectful, and care for the well-being of others (Fe-Ni) is shattered. He keeps grasping for some way others and systems may help him—first through calling the police, and then by considering hiring a lawyer. When both Martin and Niles say it isn’t worth it and when Martin tells him that sometimes bad things happen in life and there’s nothing you can do, Frasier has immense trouble coping with the concept. Feeling dominants often run into conflict with the approaches of the Thinking functions, which they perceive to be cold, heartless, and, in the more extreme, immoral.

Another characteristic of Frasier’s inferior Ti can be seen in the second episode, when he is still adjusting to his father and Daphne moving in with him. In the case of an inferior Ti eruption episode, Fe dominants become uncharacteristically cold and withdrawn. In this episode, Frasier is perturbed by all of the ways Martin and Daphne have infiltrated the life he worked to build for himself. He is uncharacteristically in a bad mood, seeking solitude, and short with understanding; his tertiary Se is used defensively to defend his uncharacteristic, self-based need for solitude by saying that since the situation isn’t working out now in the present moment, then there is no hope of it getting better and he should change something about it.

Niles Crane | INFJ

Niles’ function stack is also one that is very readable and makes him a great example of an INFJ.

While he is similar to his older brother, there are some distinct differences. Where Frasier’s typical impulse is to seek out others and talk to them, in need of feedback, Niles is more private and withdrawn, mulling over things internally before externally voicing a conclusion. Where Frasier thrives navigating the social world and being a prominent face in the community, Niles considers his radio show “pop psychiatry” and values a more typical setting where he can see patients one-on-one rather than seeking a broad audience and outward recognition. This is not to say that Extraversion and Introversion have to do with sociability or ability to perform in front of an audience—Niles frequently holds group therapy sessions and workshops etc.—but than IFJs and EFJs tend to differ in their natural preferences. EFJs like to immerse themselves actively in a society and have engagement and involvement. IFJs don’t require this external feedback or engagement, and many times like to help others in more controlled, individual sessions.

One example Niles’ Ni is evident is after he and Frasier see their father having dinner with an old family acquaintance. They remember that her family used to be close to theirs until one summer they had a falling out and were no longer acquainted. The next day, Niles arrives at Frasier’s apartment and announces he had been doing some thinking, wondering why their father was with that woman, so he dug up his old childhood journal and an old photo album their late mother had put together. In the journal around the time they remembered the family friends having a falling out, Niles had written that he had seen his father and her in each other’s arms. In the photo album photos from that summer, there were multiple photos with a woman cut out of them. With these things brought to attention, Niles suggests a theory that their father had an affair. This is Ni—seeing something, mulling it over, connecting separate pieces, and arriving at a conclusion. Frasier first strikes down the accusation, saying there isn’t enough evidence. Again, this is Niles’ Ni—the connections he has made are based on internal thought processes, not totally tangible, but make sense in his linear internal logical deductions based on a couple of pieces of evidence. Ni can derive insight and theory based on minimal things in reality and is not dependent exclusively on what is experienced through the senses.

Another example of Niles’ being his type, and perhaps a good example of how INFJs tend to offer advice in general, can be seen in this conversation between him and Frasier in episode 2.

Frasier: Niles, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Dad and I had another fight. I’m afraid if we stay under the same roof together we’ll do irreparable harm to the relationship we have as it is.

Niles: Well, what are the alternatives?

Frasier: Well, if I didn’t feel so guilty I’d, I’d do what I should have done in the first place: just move dad and Daphne into their own apartment.

Niles: Oh, for goodness sake, Frasier. It hasn’t been that long, you have to give it a chance. And you might remember why you moved him in in the first place.

Frasier: Refresh me.

Niles: You wanted to get closer to dad.

Frasier: I still do. There isn’t anything I’d like more, but he makes it impossible. I can’t read my book, I can’t have my coffee, I can’t have any peace in my own home.

Niles: So what you’re saying is, you want to be closer to dad, but you don’t actually want him around. Ask yourself Frasier, have you tried to sit down and talk to him—I mean, really talk to him?

Frasier: Well, I... Maybe I haven’t done my best. I guess I owe that to the old man, don’t I? Well, ah, thanks for the chat, Niles. You’re a good brother, and a credit to the psychiatric profession.

Niles’ dominant Ni urges Frasier to see past the interpersonal rifts and down to the heart of what matters most, which was Frasier’s original goal: to become closer to his father. Conflict that seems unsolvable through talking it out is a trigger to Fe dominants, and as such, it was hard for Frasier to see past it. Niles’ Ni reminds him of the goal despite this conflict, as Ni as a dominant function is more zoomed out and big-picture; while Niles too uses Fe and is people-focused, he primarily views the world through Ni, which sees things outside of the framework of relationships, whereas Frasier’s dominant Fe was stuck seeing only the relationships and the conflict within them and he forgot the original goal. Additionally, Niles’ use of Ni prompts Frasier to point his own auxiliary Ni at himself and remind himself of his personal responsibility and purpose to the situation with his father.

Niles’ inferior Se is noticed more comically, such as how he doesn’t remember meeting Roz even after he has met her multiple times, nor does he remember where they met. Ni is a very internally-based function, and with inferior Sensation, Ni dominants can have trouble recalling concrete information about their surroundings or people they come into contact with in the external world. Another example of an INJ’s inferior Se can be seen when Niles is gripping shortly after his divorce. He begins to date someone completely opposite from his normal temperament and is impulsive, spontaneous, and doesn’t give any deep thought to his actions or the purpose for these actions. He stays out all night, drinks more, plans a trip with his new girlfriend to another country. It is all very out of character for him, which happens when an INJ is gripping—usually notoriously inert and cerebrally-based, they become active and spontaneous in the outer world, over-indulging in sensory activities.

#Frasier #Niles #MBTI #ENFJ #INFJ #Ni #Fe #Ni-Fe #Fe-Ni #Frasier Crane #Niles Crane #Frasier MBTI

30 notes · View notes

thenightling · 3 years

Text

In defense of Tom Sturridge (Already!?)

Apparently Tom Sturridge needs defending from our own meager fandom... already...

Disclaimer: Though it is looking more and more likely that Tom Sturridge has the role of Morpheus in Netflix’s Adaptation of The Sandman this has still NOT been confirmed. We are still riding on pure speculation. However, I will defend the man.

Though it is not officially confirmed that Tom Sturridge will be playing Morpheus in The Sandman there are already people in the fandom complaining about the casting. (See the Neil Gaiman’s Sandman Facebook group. The one with over three-thousand-members that I left.)

In this post I will be addressing each and every complaint that I have seen thus far.

And you wonder why they’re keeping the cast a secret from us for so long? This. This behavior would actually be worse if you knew for certain who was in the cast.

When these negative reactions are in regard to who “might” be playing Morpheus, without any actual footage, or even images of him in character, they were wise to keep it a secret from us.

Now, let us begin.

1. “He looks too much like Robert Pattinson.” The hatred of Robert Pattinson is bizarre and irrational. It is as if a great deal of the population cannot separate him from a character they despise. The irony is Robert Pattinson never liked playing Edward Cullen anyway. He did it strictly for the money. And as far as vampire fiction goes, there is far, far, worse out there than Twilight. Twilight is not good but there is worse out there. It seems the hatred of Twilight is almost a knee-jerk reaction- a compulsive raw contempt against anything that appeals to teenage girls. I do not like Twilight but I do not irrationally hate an actor just because he was in the films. So what if Tom Sturridge resembles Robert Pattinson a bit? You’ll condemn an actor because of his bone structure? Because he “Kind of” reminds you of a man who played a character you don’t like? Really? I thought most of this fandom were grown ups.

2. “He’s too young to play Morpheus.” The casting call was for men between the ages of twenty six and thirty six. Tom Sturridge turns thirty-six this year. It’s true that a man in his forties or even a youthful fifties could probably play Morpheus perfectly well and Morpheus did have crows-feet wrinkles in the first issue but to condemn an actor based on his age is merely ageism. In this day and age a man can look any age with the right makeup. Look at the lead in the silent film of Faust, directed by F. W. Murnau (Director of Nosferatu). It’s impressive to know a thirty-six-year-old played elderly and youthful Faust in that film, and that was back in 1926.

3. “He’s too old to play Morpheus.” ...Seriously? What did you want? A CW teenager or early twenty-something college kid as the ten-billion-year-old dream lord? Yet again, I know a man can pretty much play any age with the right makeup. All else is ageism, even my cynical statement about the CW, that’s ageism.

When Lestat the musical was on Broadway the actor who played Lestat was forty, the woman playing his mother was only about two years older than him.

The actor playing Barnabas in the original Dark Shadows was in his forties. The character was (According to Dan Curtis) only twenty-five when he became a vampire. The woman playing his mother was only five-years-older than him.

Tom Welling was still in Smallville as pre-Superman Clark Kent and he was older than the actor who played Superman in Superman Returns. With good acting and makeup age doesn’t really matter.

4. “He’s a terrible actor.” The man has about ten acting credits in total according to IMDB. Most are bit parts and two are from when he was ten and eleven-years-old respectively.

Are you judging him on roles he had before he hit puberty!?

I have my doubts you ever saw him act in anything yet. You’re probably leaping to conclusions because the pictures you found of him are a stoic pretty boy with beard stubble.

5. “If he’s playing Morpheus that’s automatically a deal breaker. I’m not watching.” Okay. Okay, fine. Don’t watch it. You don’t have to. No one is making you watch it. However, you should be aware that Neil Gaiman watched the auditions. He had a say in the casting. If Tom Sturridge is playing him than this is the man HE chose. If Neil Gaiman doesn’t know who should play Morpheus, than no one does. I thought James McAvoy did an excellent job in The Sandman audio drama and I will not automatically assume Tom Sturridge is a bad actor just because there are people pre-determined to hate this.

6. “He shouldn’t be played by a white man. It indicates that The Endless are all white and white people rule the universe.” Morpheus likely will still have his bone-white (not human-white) skin from the comics (and I hope, the black void eyes with star pupils). This was pulled off successfully with the Frankenstein monster in Penny Dreadful, with his own inhuman skin and yellow eyes.

Morpheus’ bone-white skin, improbably thin build, and black void eyes are supposed to be without distinct race. He’s not a human being. He’s not Caucasian. He might be played by a white man, yes, but the actor was chosen based on talent, not racial background.

I saw the casting description. Race was not a factor. Since actual non-human / humanoid entities devoid of distinct racial background were unavailable, the show simply had to make do with a human being, instead. The real Endless were unavailable or refuse to act. You know how temperamental anthropomorphic personifications can be.

7. “He’s not thin enough.” Okay, look. A lot can be done with CG. I don’t want an actor killing himself for this role.

Back in 1976 David Bowie was close to ninety-pounds when playing Thomas Jerome Newton in The Man who fell to Earth. He was so under-weight that the wardrobe department had to buy his clothes in the children’s department of a store. Yes, the character was really that thin in the Walter Tevis novel that the movie was based on. But in the book Newton had hollow bones, like a bird, David Bowie, however, is a human being, not an alien. And Tom Sturridge is a human being, not an anthropomorphic personification.

When David Bowie played Newton he was on a diet mostly consisting of cocaine... He could have easily died. Thankfully Bowie cleaned up later, but he was not in a healthy state when he was in The man who fell to Earth. We do not need a return of The Thin White Duke. Not like that.

For a human to reach Morpheus’ comic book weight- that might require very unhealthy behavior, it would potentially be dangerous. This is something they can adjust with camera tricks and computer effects. He does not need to look like he’s dying.

8. “They should find an actor whose cheekbones stand out.” See above...

9. “He doesn’t look anything like Morpheus.” I am certain you have not seen him in costume yet. Neil Gaiman has (hypothetically speaking). Let us trust the author and believe that his character looks the way he intended. Remember how Henry Cavill went from Superman to The Witcher.

10. “I wanted Henry Cavill to play him.” ... What?

Have you... have you read Sandman? Henry Cavill is under contract to do The Witcher. He needs to stay buff for that role, and you want him to play “rake thin” Morpheus? Yeah, a lot can be done with CG but Henry is an action hero actor. He can act. He’s a good actor. But this is probably not the right role for Henry Cavill.

11. “He looks like an American Youtuber.” He’s not either of those things. Stop judging by appearances.

12. “He’s too pretty to play Morpheus.” Stop judging by appearances.

13. “He’s not attractive enough to play Morpheus.” See above...

14. “He’s too short to play Morpheus.” / “I heard he’s only five foot three.” / “I read that he’s just five foot eight.” According to Google and IMDB he’s 5′10. That’s the same height David Bowie was. That’s average adult male height. If they want him to look taller that’s easily done. Remember, Tom Cruise was The Vampire Lestat.

It’s just lather, rinse, repeat, when it comes to fans. Every adaptation the same thing. “Tom Cruise can’t play Lestat.” (Anne Rice apologized for leading that charge, when she saw him in action). Or “Michael Keaton is too wholesome to play Batman.” or even “Ryan Reynolds should never play Deadpool after what he did in Wolverine.”

People never learn.

Just give Tom Sturridge a chance. The casting isn’t even official yet. And if he is Morpheus- try and wait to actually see how he plays the role before you decide he’s the worst thing to happen to The Sandman. A few publicity photos don’t tell you what he is capable of as an actor. You might be pleasantly surprised.

#Tom Sturridge #The Sandman #Morpheus #Dream of The Endless #Neil Gaiman #Neil Gaiman's The Sandman

50 notes · View notes

itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years

Text

Shackled

Chapter 1

Summary: After nearly ten years, Sam Winchester calls Miriam Bard to collect on a life debt. Unfortunately for Miriam, Sam leaves out a few important details.

Warning: Implied loss of family, grieving, depression, cursing, Demon!Dean, Sam’s tendency to leave out vital details for folks helping him to save Dean (read: Sam’s tendency to be a Winchester)

Word count: 1,895

Author’s Note: This story would not be possible without @thoughtslikeaminefield , who convinced me to write and finish this story, cheered me on every step of the way, and convinced me that even after over a year of not finishing a single thing, I hadn’t lost my writing after all. MJ, thank you for poking the story til it squeaked. And for the banner. And lots and lots of other things. If you’re reading this, hi! Have a seat and strap in, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride (in the best way!).

“Hey, Miriam, it’s Sam...Sam Winchester...I don’t know if you remember me from-”

“I remember you, Sam. Not likely to forget a Winchester, much less...it’s one in the morning, what’s up?”

“I need to call in that favor.”

“All right. Where do you need me?”

…

Miriam stared blearily at the road as it stretched out in an infinite blur of dismal sameness, each expanse of asphalt and surrounding fields a dreary replica of the one before.

The last couple hundred or so miles had been hypnotically wretched, especially with the remnants of her headache hanging on by the tips of its claws since Sam Winchester had woken her with a phone call a few hours ago.

Caffeine and aspirin had taken the edges off, but straining her eyes into the endless darkness, alternating occasionally with too-bright headlights shattering the night (fucking halogens), had done nothing to ease the sharp ache that wouldn’t quite dissipate.

If she was being honest, the headache had been hanging around much longer than just a few hours, and if Sam’s call hadn’t woken her, the nightmares would have. They always did. She couldn’t really remember what an uninterrupted night of sleep felt like anymore. Exhaustion was her state of existence; it was preferable to feeling anything else.

“Suck it up, Miri,” she muttered into the muffled quiet of the car. Even her GPS was set on silent; the soft hum of the engine was the only noise she allowed to permeate her cocoon of quiet suffering.

Aaron would have been blasting some stupid metal band on the stereo, slapping her hand away every time she went to turn it down or change the station. He wouldn’t offer to drive and let her sleep off any physical maladies, but she wouldn’t have accepted anyway. He was a shit driver, and she always said she’d rather live long enough to let the next case kill her rather than the inevitable wreck if her brother was behind the wheel.

“Suck it up, Miri! Take another pill and quit whining!” he would have told her in the middle of an air drum solo.

Would have.

“Shut up,” Miriam muttered aloud. She drove on.

She pulled up outside something she would have dismissed as public waterworks or an electric station if Sam hadn’t told her what to look for. No cars outside, no mailbox, nothing to tell her this was an actual residence and not the setting for a seventies slaughterhouse flick. She checked her phone.

Text me when you get here; I’ll come let you in.

Alrighty, then.

Sam met her at the door and led her into the last sort of place Miriam could have imagined, a cross between a sci-fi/post-apocalypse novel and some sort of Cold War relic. He gave her the briefest of explanations as he led her through the bunker, saying something about legacies and a secret society, information which mostly passed right through her fatigue-addled head.

Pretty nice home base, she thought as they walked through the meeting room and past the library.

The research-oriented part of her itched to run her fingers over the spines of those books, to find out what was inside. Miriam cringed internally as she heard the echo of Aaron’s voice calling her a nerd, equal parts affection and ridicule in his voice. Then she throttled the pain down, locked the thoughts away, and dragged herself back to the present.

A few minutes later, Miriam was slinging her duffel down on one of the nicest beds she’d been able to claim in any capacity in months, maybe even years. Absolutely spartan and about six decades out of date, almost military in decor, but it was clean, and it had air, electricity, and both sheets and blankets on the bed. No nasty or rotten surprises left by former inhabitants; definitely an upgrade on a few of the shitholes she’d stayed in.

“We’ve got a fully stocked kitchen just down the hallway, and showers. Let me know if you need anything,” Sam said, rubbing the back of his head.

Miriam decided to save him further discomfort and cut to the chase.

“Fancy digs, Sam. It’s been a few years. You wanna tell me what’s got you so bothered?”

She’d noticed a distinct lack of the elder Winchester on the way in, but Miriam’s own recent history had done nothing if not jam a filter firmly in her mouth that kept her from sharing any and all thoughts that flowed through her mind.

Sam’s mouth quivered at the corners before he schooled his features into a mask of control that failed to hide the depth of his worry.

“I...Dean is why I called you. It’s...complicated.”

She took advantage of the awkward pause to re-evaluate Sam Winchester. He’d aged a lot in the few years since she and Aaron had run across the Winchesters. He’d grown broader since she last saw him, and he gave the impression of being even taller than she remembered, to say nothing of the length of his hair. She resisted the urge to offer him a hair tie for his shaggy mane.

Her gaze flicked down to his injured right arm, bound to his chest in a sling. She waited for several beats, but when he didn’t continue, she crossed her arms sternly, letting a shade of her impatience show on her face.

“You called me, Sam.”

Sam cleared his throat as if he still couldn’t get the words out. Miriam sighed. Her headache flared, burning the inside of her skull like a wash of acid between her eyes. Fatigue pulled at her, weighing her down towards the bed, but she locked her knees and straightened her back until she could trust her weary body not to betray her to gravity.

“Sam, we’re not close friends, I get that, but you called me here because I owe you, and hopefully because you know you can count on me. I haven’t been in the field recently, wasn’t planning on it any time soon. I’m tired; it’s been a hell of a year. If you want my help, talk to me. If not, I’m taking advantage of your hospitality to catch a few hours sleep in a decent bed, then I’ll head back out.”

“Dean’s a demon.”

His bald declaration woke her as the coffee she’d consumed after his phone call hadn’t.

Wasn’t expecting that, she thought as her eyebrows threatened to meet her hairline.

“Demons aren’t my area of expertise, Sam. And, let’s be honest, it’s fairly common knowledge that the Winchesters can exorcise a demon. What do you need me for?”

Sam shook his head, tension making the movement jerky and stiff as his jaw tightened. He had circles under his eyes to rival hers, and his shoulders slumped with a weight she knew all too well.

He reached up, awkwardly tugging down the neckline of his shirt to reveal a tattooed symbol she vaguely recalled from research she’d done years ago.

“Neither of us can be possessed,” he said, shrugging his shirt back into place with a wince of discomfort. “Dean is...Look, just come with me; I need to check on him anyway. You'll see.”

Making a physical effort to keep her jaw from hanging slack, Miriam followed Sam from the small bedroom. The whole situation was surreal, and the bland, institutional walls of the bunker only added to Miriam’s sense of dissociation.

She raised a curious eyebrow as Sam led her into what looked like nothing so much as a large file storage room.

Their footsteps echoed strangely; the space felt somehow emptier than the full shelves should have allowed. The ceiling, higher than what seemed necessary, continued much further back than the shelves. And what kind of shelving needed caging to connect it to the ceiling? The metal screen wasn’t what drew her attention, though.

The second she set foot in the room, Miriam felt an inexplicable pull to look behind those shelves, to push past Sam and shove the files out of the way. There was a presence in the room, something that spoke to a place deep inside her that she’d trained herself not to acknowledge, something familiar and forbidden all at once.

For the first time in months, she felt something more than tired, foggy despair.

Whatever was back there, Miriam wanted it.

It took her a second to realize that Sam was speaking.

“Don’t...um...don’t let him get to you, okay? It’s Dean, but it...isn’t,” Sam finished lamely with a grimace.

Miriam tilted her head to the side, considering his words. She opened her mouth, then closed it and shrugged, bracing herself for whatever it was Sam didn’t seem to be able to explain.

His shoulders slumped for a moment as he struggled to pull himself together.

Miriam hadn’t spent much time with the Winchesters, just the couple of weeks they'd worked that witch case all those years ago. Sam and Dean had been so in tune with each other, working the case with instinct and skill on a level that she’d both admired and envied. Then they went and saved her stupid brother.

Sam had been so much younger, then, not exactly sure of himself, but much more solid and in control than the tired, injured man in front of her.

“I owe you, and I mean it,” she’d said back then, shaking first Dean’s and then Sam’s hands, looking each brother in the eyes.

“You need someone to watch your back, to help you take something down, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t normally speak for that asshole,” she nodded at her younger brother, currently sleeping off the leftover ill effects from the hex bag that had nearly taken his life, “but I’ll go ahead and vouch for his dumb ass, too. Call me if you need me. Don’t lose my number.”

She hadn’t heard from them since.

Oh, she had heard plenty of them. What hunter hadn’t? All sorts of misadventures and exploits, taking down creatures most hunters had only ever heard of, much less encountered. But Miriam had gotten no phone calls from them, no requests for help. She figured they'd probably forgotten her and Aaron the moment they’d left town, rock blasting from the speakers of their legendary Impala as they cruised on to the next town, the next case.

“Why now, Sam?” Miriam asked quietly. “After all this time, why call me now?”

There were approximately a thousand more questions she wanted to ask, chiefly what the cage behind those shelves was holding, but she held her tongue after the one. Sam had obviously brought her here for a reason, so she reminded herself to be patient and ready for whatever happened next.

The younger Winchester hung his head for a moment longer, then turned eyes on her that were so familiar, her heart seized in her chest. She saw those same eyes every time she’d looked at her own reflection in the mirror since she’d returned from that last job, with one more scar and one less brother.

“Because I knew you’d understand.”

And then Sam straightened, and she watched as he willed steel through his limbs, stiffening his spine and hardening his features. He pulled on a narrow section of shelving and rolled it out of the way.

“Heya, Sammy.”

...

Chapter 2 is up!

#demon dean #demon!dean #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfic #demon

108 notes · View notes

missjosie27 · 4 years

Text

Year 2 Part 10- New Revelations

Well, my friends this is it.

Year 2 is in the books. And after year 3 (due to JC's milking of this game for all its worth) the years will get steadily longer and the chapters more varied. But for now, we've finished two years and I really hope you guys liked it. As always, comment and review! Send a kudos!

I already have a head start on Year 3 so be on the lookout for it within the month. Until then, stay frosty!

Year 2 Part 10. New Revelations

For the span of about twenty four hours, David almost thought he got away with breaking into a cursed vault without any higher authority discovering so. Hogwarts was still settling down from the ice attack, which thankfully had abated. As he suspected, the ice immediately disappeared upon the defeat of the Ice Knight and their entry of the vault. Dumbledore had also returned, and his presence immediately restored order. Where he had been, however, remained the subject of speculation.

The Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had been postponed to the following weekend which meant that the primary focus for the student body was exams, much to their chagrin. For himself, David wasn’t looking forward to the Transfiguration test as he could barely look Professor McGonagall in the eye. He wondered whether or not she knew about their little excursion into the vault. The answer to that question came rather quickly.

He and Rowan were walking back from Charms the following Monday when his head of house stood right in front of the fat lady, eyeing them with an extremely stern gaze. It certainly did not give the warm and fuzzies, a sentiment echoed by his best friend.

“I don’t like that look,” Rowan whispered.

“Yeah, you don’t say.”

“David Grant,” McGonagall called out to him in her usual brisk tone. “Last weekend was not the first time cursed ice has appeared at Hogwarts, it is also not the first time it has suddenly disappeared. Can you explain this?”

The question was a rhetorical exercise. He resisted the urge not to gulp as it was abundantly clear what she was getting at. When he didn’t answer she continued.

“Up to your common room Mr. Khanna, I need to speak with Mr. Grant, alone.”

The Indian lad didn’t have to be told twice, uttering the password and scurrying up the stairs faster than a jackrabbit, as McGonagall continued.

“Like the previous instance, it seems to have appeared when someone tampered with a Cursed Vault, and disappeared when the door was opened. I’m sure you can guess who was responsible for opening the door the last time.”

“Jacob,” David breathed out.

“Precisely. We don’t yet understand how the vault reappeared, or who first tampered with it this time. Truth be told, there is still much we don’t understand about the Cursed Vaults, but I’m not going to bother to ask if you were responsible for what occurred last weekend.”

He wanted to make a joke, but he knew better than to do that in front of a woman such as Professor McGonagall. Therefore, he stayed silent.

“You are the only student who has shown the interest, recklessness, and talent to do such a thing.”

You’re forgetting Merula Snyde, David thought to himself. She fits all three of those categories…except for talent maybe. Hehe

“We know that you, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Haywood were all involved in this. Therefore I will be taking one hundred points from Gryffindor. Mr. Weasley in particular was adamant of your innocence which was noble of him…”

“He had nothing to do with it,” David quickly interjected. He could take losing house points, but it was common knowledge that Bill also desired to be a prefect the following semester when he entered his fifth year. If he had to take the blame for all of it, he would. “Penny didn’t either.”

A strange look of respect appeared on Professor McGonagall’s face, temporarily softening her strict stance.

“It is good to see such strong bonds between you and your friends, Mr. Grant. Miss Haywood’s punishment is not up to me. But rest assured that Mr. Weasley’s prospects of becoming prefect have not been damaged by this incident.”

David gave an inward sigh of relief. He would not have been happy with himself had his actions jeopardized Bill’s higher goals.

“But that is not the end of the matter for you,” his head of house continued to admonish. “You will speak to Professor Dumbledore about this matter. He may not be so forgiving.”

Resisting the urge to hang his head in defeat, all David could do was utter a solemn, “Yes, Professor,” and begin to make his way towards the Headmaster’s office.

“Mr. Grant? You may want the password. It is ‘lemon drop.’”

They always did say he was a bit mad, he commented on the password being named after a muggle sweet. But it made no difference. Albus Dumbledore was one of the most, if not the most powerful wizard in the world; a man who held the power of his schooling in the palm of his hand.

It was not a comforting thought, but either way he had to face the music.

“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered to himself.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Upon saying the password, the gargoyle jumped aside revealing a spiral staircase which led to the confines of Dumbledore’s office. When he reached the top, David was immediately struck by how vast and intricate the place was. It was like no other room in Hogwarts he’d ever seen. To describe it took a lot of words that weren’t coming to him at the moment.

There were many elaborate and intricate looking instruments placed unevenly around the shelves and tables that adorned the room. Some looked vaguely familiar to David while others defied comprehension. Surrounding the vast semi circular space were also legions of portraits, some of which looked as though they belonged in the Middle Ages while others were more modern. Up above on a railing was a giant blue sphere that looked like a globe and an attached telescope for the purpose of astronomy. And then of course, there was the center of the room which housed the desk of the Headmaster himself, who was dressed in rich, purple robes. Perched above him was also a strange, red and gold bird of unknown origin.

Talk about an impressive setup, David thought to himself as he approached the centenarian, who was currently writing a letter of some sort.

“Professor?”

“I will be with you in a moment, David,” came Dumbledore’s light response, though he did not look up from his current task. “I’m sure you can understand why I have pressing matters to address…”

I know, because of me

“…in the meantime, please feel free to look around as I finish this last task.”

David did so, staring at some of the metal instruments but having enough sense not to touch them as he did not want to break anything. However, he did bend down and look at one of the most peculiar of all: a gigantic bowl with a shiny, silvery substance on the inside. It practically hypnotized him and as he peered closer he swore he could see images floating through the silvery liquid, some of which seemed familiar…

“Any closer and you’ll be in more trouble than you already are, brat,” a snide voice called out from above.

David snapped out of his trance and looked up to see one of the portraits sneering down at him, a thin, bearded man with a pointed hat topped with silver, green robes. He disliked the portrait immediately.

“Oh yeah? Who the hell are you?”

“Phineas Nigellus Black, Headmaster of Hogwarts from 1892 to 1925. And I must note your distinct lack of manners, young man. Were this my day, I could have you physically whipped for such disrespect.”

David narrowed his eyes and replied in a bored tone.

“Yeah well that’s why I’m alive and you’re six feet under, you git.”

“Insolent-”

“That is enough Phineas,” the firm voice of Albus Dumbledore interjected, coming over to the scene. “Though David I must ask you to step back from the pensieve, as entering it would cause you to see things I do not feel are appropriate.”

“A pensieve,” he repeated, obliging the elderly man. “I’ve heard of those but never seen one in person.”

“You may find that they are useful for old fools such as myself, who have far too many memories and enjoy indulging in the past when useful to the present moment,” Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. “But for a young man as you are, I doubt they would serve much purpose.”

“There are some things I’d like to forget…others I’d like to remember more clearly.”

“A unique observation for someone your age, however, we both know that is not the reason for your presence here today.”

They had come to it at last, and David supposed there wasn’t any use in putting it off much longer.

“It’s not. What was that you were writing, though?”

A noise of disapproval could be heard from Phineas, but Dumbledore ignored it.

“Questions. Questions that I hope will finally provide answers.”

The answer was vague, but David did not press the matter, and began using a more formal tone of voice.

“Professor McGonagall said you wanted to see me, sir?”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore replied, placing an arm around his shoulder and leading him away from the pensieve. “It would appear you discovered the source of the mysterious cursed ice. You revealed a vanished staircase using advanced transfiguration beyond your year, explored long forgotten corridors of this school and broke an ancient curse on a vault that many refused to believe existed despite overwhelming evidence.”

So he did know everything. There was no point in denying it then. If nothing else, he had to explain to the Headmaster the reasons for his actions even if it was an exercise in futility.

“I’m sorry I entered the vault without telling anyone, Professor. But there was no time. The ice was spreading everywhere, and I was the only one who knew where the vault was located. I had to do something before the entire school froze over. People were trapped.”

Dumbledore’s eyes peered deep into him, however, as if waiting for him to reveal the full truth he was not telling.

“I’ve heard my brother’s voice both outside and inside the vault, sir. I saw visions of the ice and more.”

“Visions like the one you just described are very rare indeed,” Dumbledore explained to him, placing his hands directly underneath his chin. “You might ask yourself whether what you perceived is something else entirely.”

“I’m not sure what to say, sir,” David admitted. “To be honest, this whole experience my first two years has been…a lot.”

“Quite understandable, especially with the recent adventures and a history such as yours. Is there anything you can say for yourself in the meantime?”

On the surface, Dumbledore’s words suggested punishment and explanation but knowing the Headmaster by now it was also an invitation to ask more than what could be expected from a normal authority figure. That being said, there were so many thoughts spinning inside his head he barely knew where to begin.

“Sir, I promise I didn’t purposefully try to subvert your authority or anyone else’s. I didn’t go looking for this vault at first, it’s almost as if it found me. There’s so much I still don’t understand. I asked you last year what the vaults were, but this year raised so many more questions. Why do they exist in the first place? What is their purpose? And why do I keep hearing my brother’s voice? Am I mad?”

A regretful, almost sad look passed on the Headmaster’s face, as though he were empathetic to the young Gryffindor’s plight but unsure on just how much to reveal.

“I believe you, David. However, as to your questions I’m afraid my knowledge is still barely beyond yours. Why these vaults exist within the Institution of Hogwarts or what their true purpose is, I do not know. I do have theories, but that sort of speculation is too dangerous and implausible to indulge until we know the truth. Regarding your brother, I have a much more concrete theory, but I cannot confirm it until I have further information.

“What I can say is this: Jacob Grant was an extraordinarily perceptive person and had a sixth sense about most things. The connections between family members, magical or not, are still active and real. Far from being mad, I believe that your hearing his voice suggests he is very much alive, both figuratively and literally.”

Dumbledore stood up and looked towards the window.

“As for the vaults, I’ve been attempting to locate someone who may have the answers. But for now, I am awarding you one hundred house points for your heroism in breaking the curse and once again ridding Hogwarts of the cursed ice.”

Hardly daring to believe he was being rewarded a second time, David had to keep his eyes from popping out of his sockets.

“One hundred house points?!” he blurted out before he could stop himself. “Thank you, Professor.”

There was still twinkling in the blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore, but his voice gave off a sternness as well.

“Thank me by leaving the search for your brother and the remaining cursed vaults to me. We will talk at the end of your third year, and I would like to discuss something besides curses and your frequent involvement in these vaults.”

David nodded emphatically (it was amazing how the power of this man could corral him into behaving like an angel) though in his heart he wondered if truly would be able to heed the Headmaster’s warning. As he stated before, trouble at Hogwarts always seemed to find him, not the other way around.

“Now then, I believe you have exams to study for and a Quidditch match to attend,” Dumbledore beamed underneath his thick, white beard. “I must say, I do hope the contest is much more even than it was last year. I’ve heard wonderful things about young Charlie Weasley on a broomstick.”

For his part, David Grant could only grin widely.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The end of the 1985-86 school year brought on a bevy of good news and celebration for David and the rest of the Gryffindors.

For starters, the greatest Gryffindor Quidditch Team in a decade pulled the hat trick, defeating Ravenclaw 550-460 in a high powered shootout that went on four hours and featured over eight lead changes. The Bronze Eagles had pulled ahead by sixty points when Charlie Weasley, in his greatest feat yet, swooped in and caught the snitch right underneath beater Erika Rath’s left foot just before she connected with a bludger. The celebration that night in the Gryffindor common room was so enormous and so merry that even Professor McGonagall didn’t bother to stop it. Her joy of winning the cup, though subdued, was just as great as anyone else that day (including Blishwick and McLaggen, who ended up passed out in a tide of alcoholic, yellow vomit).

The victory also allowed Gryffindor to edge out the Slytherins for the House Cup, which was also the catalyst for another wild party (though this one McGonagall later put a stop to). On top of that, David found out that his marks had indeed been able to surpass the previous year’s in most subjects with the exception of Charms, a subject that had always been up and down for him. But overall, he figured his parents would be pleased with his academic effort this year.

The cherry on top of all these positive moments came on the second to last day of Hogwarts. The seventh years were already preparing for graduation while the rest of the school packed their things and enjoyed the free time they had in the sun. That morning, however, as the last day of mail came in. It was a normally sparse load- very few owls swooped in but to David’s surprise he received a thick, white letter with no return address, an oddity to say the least.

“Check this out,” he said to Rowan as he passed the letter to him while eating his cornflakes.

“No return address. Maybe it’s from an admirer of some sort.”

“Wouldn’t there be something to indicate that?”

“I don’t think you should open it,” Ben said nervously, setting down his toast. “If you don’t know who it’s from it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Come on, Ben,” Rowan laughed. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Could be your parents sending you a surprise gift for your birthday.”

David narrowed his eyes at the letter.

“Rowan, my birthday was almost six months ago.”

“And?”

“And ....” a cocky, monotone voice interjected. “For once, I think the scaredy cat is right. I know a laced parcel when I see one.”

Jae Kim swooped in and snatched the letter before anyone did anything else.

“Hey!”

“You’ll thank me later, Khanna trust me. You do not want to open this.”

David knew that with Jae it was usually best not to ask anything further of him but his curiosity was stronger this time around.

“How can you tell?”

“I’ve smuggled in contraband hundreds of times,” Jae responded, dangling the letter from his thumb and index finger as though it were a dead rodent. He gave it a small sniff. “I also can tell when someone is trying to send an anonymous prank. The most common of which is undiluted bubotuber pus. And this thing reeks of petrol.”

“But that’s crazy. Who would want to send David a laced letter?”

David titled his head slightly sideways and was able to get a look at the Slytherin table. A group of the younger ones were huddling around, looking in his direction as though waiting for some reaction. At the center of that group was none other than Merula Snyde, who was smirking as though she had won a lifetime supply of chocolate frogs.

“Methinks a certain Slytherin girl is seeking to do you in,” Bill chuckled as he took a seat next to them.

“Then I guess it’s only fair that I return the favor,” David said with a sly grin. “Bill, if you need to excuse yourself in order to keep your chances of being prefect, I understand.”

“What’s that now? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the eldest Weasley said with a wink.

David grinned and turned back to his second year house mates.

“Ben, charm this to fly over back to the Slytherin table. Rowan, tell me when they’re not looking. Jae, can you make this explode on impact?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

A few spells and a flick of Ben’s wand later, a white envelope airplane soared its way towards Merula Snyde and her gang of Slytherins.

“Hey Merula!” David called out.

“What?!” she snarled, unaware of what was about to happen.

“Catch.”

The paper airplane took a nosedive and landed directly in front of her with a mighty *thud of an explosion as green and yellow smoke filled the air, causing her whole posse to cough and cover their faces and mouths. It didn’t take long for painful sores and boils to start dotting all over their skin. Positively furious but with nowhere left to go except Madam Pomfrey, the Slytherin girl and the rest of her mates took off running but not before Merula called out one last time.

“I HATE you, Grant!”

The Gryffindors laughed at their misfortune, enjoying the spectacular backfiring of the attempted sabotage.

“Will you look at that, she really does care,” Bill teased, giving him an elbow.

David snorted, flipping more bacon into his mouth.

“Don’t you start.”

“I’m with David,” Rowan chuckled. “Breaking the curse on that vault is going to make Merula crosser than ever. She’s probably coming up with a scheme as we speak.”

“Yeah, well she’ll have to clean the bubotuber pus from her hands first.”

More laughter ensued.

It truly was a good day to be alive.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The train ride home was uneventful as David, Rowan, Ben, Jae, Charlie, and Bill swapped chocolate frog cards and played several rounds of exploding snap. In his second year of experience, it always seemed to David that the train ride home was always shorter than the trip to Hogwarts. He wondered if there was a reason for the inconsistency in that perception of time. Either way, it was far more difficult this year saying goodbye.

“Have a good summer, mate,” Rowan beamed at him. “You’ll have to write me this time around.”

“Me too,” Ben pipped up. “I…uh, don’t have an owl but my parents are starting to learn more about how the magical world works. I’m sure I could persuade them.”

“You know I’ll be in touch as best I can,” he assured them both.

“At some point we need to have you round for tea at the Burrow,” Bill said, clapping on the back. “Charlie’s already told mum all about you and she’s talking of knitting you a sweater for next Christmas. Hell, the twins already think you’re a celebrity.”

Charlie rolled his eyes as he unloaded the last of things off the train.

“Gee, Bill, make our family seem loonier than they already are, why don’t you.”

“You’ll get over it, Quidditch hero. She’s going to have a cake ready for you when you get back you know.”

The last to say goodbye was Penny, who gave him a big hug and the most radiant smile he’d ever seen from the blonde.

“I’ll see you next fall, Hero of Hogwarts,” she beamed at him. “I hope you’ll write me.”

“You know I will,” David said with a lopsided grin.

“And I can’t wait to see what kind of adventure we go on in our third year.”

“Maybe we could just have a normal year for once?”

Penny gave his hand one last squeeze.

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to be the case. Not with you around, anyway. See ya, David!”

As she turned and ran to a blonde woman that looked like her mother, David did the same. Saying the last of his farewells to his friends and scouring the platform for his parents. They wouldn’t be hard to find, even among this crowd.

When he did, however, the reaction wasn’t at all what he expected. Dressed adequately in muggle clothing (a suit for his dad, and a cardigan/sun dress combination for his mom), David saw that their expressions were grim and not at all pleased. His mom, a blonde woman with blue eyes and a height of about 5’5 was giving him a stare only a mother could give her son. His father, who resembled him in looks and hair color, was less severe in his expression but underneath that neutral exterior was also a man who probably was equally as upset as his mother. Though they had different ways of expressing it, David knew whatever was going on wasn’t good.

“Err…hi, guys,” he tried to greet cheerfully, bringing up his luggage from the rear. “Happy summer?”

“David John Grant,” his mother stated.

His full name. Not a good sign.

“Come along. We need to have a very long talk.”

#hogwarts mystery #hphm #hphm fanfiction #writing #david grant #merula snyde #penny haywood #bill weasley #charlie weasley #rowan khanna #ben copper #jae kim #minerva mcgonagall #albus dumbledore #parents #gryffindor #quidditch #erika rath

14 notes · View notes

readyplayerhobi · 5 years

Text

Peppermint | 01

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, future light angst

; Word Count: 10.6k

; Synopsis: Achieving your dream job is something that very people manage to do, which is why you’re all the more happier when you land a job on the film team at Poppin’ Culture; the biggest pop culture website, blog and YouTube channel around. What you don’t expect however, is to fall for the exceptionally shy and awkward colleague who is not even remotely your type. Or is he?

; A/N: This is just what I’ve been writing to try and get back into the swing of things. It’s just...light and fun. Was supposed to be a one shot but it’s getting long and it feels like a good place to end as a first part! Please send me thoughts, comments and encouragements as it’s a struggle to write lately ;-;

01 ; 02

“And this is our main office. It’s open plan, as you can see so I hope that doesn’t bother you too much. We’ve found it works better to just throw ideas out in the open or to just get reactions so feel free to shout out if you need something. Everyone’s very friendly,” Seokjin smiles at you brightly, his thick lips turning up and making his eyes sparkle behind his glasses as he leads you into the wide open space. “And this is your desk. Feel free to decorate it however you want. Nothing will beat the car wreck that’s happening on Jimin’s desk.”

“Hey! This is artistic mess. Everything has a place and there is a place for everything.” The bubblegum pink haired man in question half stands, a finger pointing threateningly while his pearly white teeth peek out from beneath plush pink lips. You can’t help but smile, as his slim frame and cute cheeks make him look distinctively non-threatening and ruin any hope he has of convincing you otherwise.

It could also be the fact he looks like a hipster from Seattle with the thick, black plastic frames delicately placed on his nose and the retro 80s film shirt with an open black and white plaid shirt over the top. Still...he’s rather pretty and you wonder momentarily if you’ve somehow entered another dimension with astonishingly beautiful people.

Either that, or you’ve walked into the set of some reality TV show but you’re not quite willing to break the Matrix programming just yet.

Seokjin snorts and rolls his eyes, lifting a ring laden hand to brush his black hair out of them. It’s hindered slightly by the tan beanie on his head and you’re momentarily distracted once more by his impressive frame. The white shirt with the Jaws film poster on it stretches rather enticingly over his broad shoulders while his black, ripped jeans are snugly secured with a leather belt that has a Superman belt buckle.

Honestly, how were you meant to work in this place?

He’d already introduced you to Namjoon, the creator of Poppin’ Culture who oversaw all aspects of his slowly booming media empire along with Namjoon’s wife, Chaeyoung. She oversaw the HR aspect of everything and had been your first point of call before Seokjin had come down to retrieve you upon getting the call that you had arrived.

Seokjin is the editor of the Poppin’ Culture website, which is the big daddy of the whole enterprise. It had originally started 10 years ago in Namjoon’s university bedroom apparently, just posting reviews of retro films and any new films that came out.

A decade later and it was the biggest source of pop culture news, blogs and entertainment in the Western hemisphere. The website scores over 250,000 hits a day with the blogs averaging a pretty healthy number too and the YouTube channels generating a steady enough income to keep a small team afloat with ease.

His sheer love of all things cultural meant that Poppin’ Culture had expanded far beyond its original remit of film and now had something for everyone. There was the film blog, the gaming blog, the music blog, the television blog and even the book blog. And you’d heard rumours of them branching into sports with talk of a fighting blog and channel appearing soon which would be interesting.

Sports were a whole other thing in the world of things people obsess over.

Either way, you’d been rather desperate to get a job here when the opening had appeared on the job listings website for a new in house content writer. When you’d found out that you’d got it, you were pretty sure that you’d almost deafened Sunmi with your screams of excitement.

As a film major with an English literature minor, it was perhaps the dream job to combine both of your loves together and work with people who were just as enthusiastic about the world of film as you were. Your friends and family had long since grown bored of how you picked apart the latest films or their trailers, but now you would have an audience of thousands that would not only be receptive to it, but interested too.

In your earlier meeting with Namjoon and Seokjin, they’d laid out your responsibilities for you pretty clearly. Given that you were in your six month probation period, you would be expected to create two blog articles a week with the possibility of writing a video script if it was approved by the video team.

Two articles may not sound a lot, but you’d already been informed that you would also likely have to do some indepth research into the topics to provide factual information, along with making sure it wasn’t something that had been done before. Not only this, but you would be expected to be constantly scouring the internet to find new topics of interest and trying to catch the latest leaks before they even happened.

While you’d been hired for the film team, you’d been told that most people tended to dip into other areas to help out or if they had some particular interest in it. As such, you could be expected to possibly be asked to find out the Top 10 Facts About The NES or 15 Things You Never Knew About Taylor Swift or something.

Wasn’t the most scintillating of things to you, but you were willing to branch out and help if necessary. It was a small team and you understand that sometimes you’d need to pitch in when it was required of you, which in turn meant you knew that you could rely on the same help.

“Jimin is our music guy. He’s the one who usually writes the music blogs and videos but he also does the gaming stuff sometimes. Also has a regular book blog where he reviews obscure international books because that’s his thing.” Seokjin says, rolling his eyes as he leans against the desk.

Jimin’s desk is littered with piles of CD cases - who even uses CDs anymore? - along with three different pairs of headphones. He also has a ton of Funko Pop! Vinyl figures that you recognise to be musicians along with a set of Assassin’s Creed characters. You recognise them because Sunmi’s ex-boyfriend had them too.

“Really? You’re going to come into my space, and ruin my time while insulting me? Am I going to wake up tomorrow morning to find you shitting on my lawn too?” Jimin slumps back in his chair, pulling a pair of pink and white headphones over his head to rest around his neck while eyeing the taller man with narrowed eyes.

“You live on the top floor of an apartment building ‘Min. What am I? A wizard?”

“I wish. Maybe you’d wingardium leviosa your ass off my damn desk.” He grumbles, nodding his head at you. “Have you ever read In The Miso Soup by Ryu Murakami?”

The question is so sudden that you’re left standing with wide eyes, shaking your head slowly. You’d not read a lot of translated work in college, though you were hoping to change that. Jimin sighs and slumps in his seat, clicking on his mouse a few times.

“Fucking weird dude. Still not entirely sure what went on it.”

Before you can even respond, Seokjin is leading you over to the desk behind Jimin. This desk is even messier, only you really can see the artistic mess here. It’s covered in pencil sketches that are stacked haphazardly while a high tech looking electronic drawing pad takes up most of the space with even the keyboard pushed away.

The guy sat comfortably in the green and black gaming chair has a black beanie on his head too, only he has platinum blonde hair that covers his eyes. And what pretty eyes they are when he looks up at you; as if someone has reached up into the sky and plucked two of the brightest, shiniest stars and placed them directly onto him.

“Oh, hey. I’m Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook. I’m the graphic designer here...with a side passion of actual drawing obviously. I mostly use Photoshop but I like to get a bit hands on.” He talks rapidly, his voice quite deep but soft. Pausing, he bites on the black lip ring embedded in the right side of his lower lip before sitting back.

The vibrant and colourful tattoos that run up and down his arms do nothing to hide the obvious fit physique he has and you find yourself dragging your eyes away from that ridiculously broad chest. He’s only wearing a black shirt but my god.

Seokjin lets you both talk for a little, discovering that if you need anything made graphics wise then to let Jungkook know. Apparently he’s the head designer and has two more people under him; Jennie who deals with a lot of designing and Soyeon who handles their website and online shop.

You’re then introduced to Yoongi who is in charge of sound for the videos. He’s pretty quiet but friendly and bright, secluded away in the corner of the office with a soundboard in front of him, while his co-worker Lisa, a video editor, is entirely the opposite. They’re both sat on the same bank of desks, and the difference between Yoongi’s monochromatic desk and Lisa’s bubblegum pop explosion is almost amusing.

The video game team was made of Miyeon, Yugyeom and Baekhyun who all took up the corner on the opposite end of the office to you. You weren’t a huge gamer, but apparently the video game side of Poppin’ Culture was one of the most popular and profitable so you could understand why they had the largest team compared to the others.

Your desk is opposite Jimin’s, allowing you a view of him if you look to your right and it looks sparse compared to everyone else’s. The guy behind you is Taehyung and you’re pleased to discover that he’s friendly and warm with a bright box smile that makes you feel at home instantly.

Taehyung is the other content creator on the film team and someone that you’ll be working closely with, though apparently he also works with Jimin on music. From the short conversation you have with him, it seems that Taehyung mainly specialises in foreign film and you surmise that you’ll be left with most of the more mainstream options with the Oscar bait films being split between you both.

He seems enigmatic enough, with the white ribbon wrapped around his neck and billowing white button up shirt that ends with a pair of baggy, tan trousers. He’s not wearing any shoes, or socks, and you wonder if that’s a violation of something somewhere but no one seems to be saying anything.

His entire desk is full of various plants, artistic photographs in elegant frames and beautiful old film posters in miniature form. A photo of a black and tan Pomeranian is eagerly introduced to you as Yeontan, his dog and you can’t help but laugh at how excited he is to show off his lil pup.

But perhaps not as excited as you when you discover that Friday’s are ‘Bring Your Dog To Work’ day. Apparently Taehyung, Yoongi and Jennie all bring their dogs and it usually ends up just being people playing with them.

Yep, definitely the best workplace already.

“Hey Hoseok, come here before you sit down.” Seokjin calls out to the late entry into the office before looking at you. “I’ll introduce you to our head video editor. He’s the one who usually helps with recording videos, then he’ll edit it all together. He works closely with Jungkook for graphics and if you write a script then he’ll work with you to see if you want anything extra added in like humourous cuts, edits and so forth. He’s got Lisa on his team and a guy who works part time, Taemin.”

The man in question almost shuffles forward, a delicate looking hand gripping the brown fabric strap of his shoulder bag tightly while he looks down at his scruffy, black Converse clad feet as Seokjin introduces you to him. He looks about the same height as Seokjin, though all you can see is a head of messy chestnut brown hair and black circular lens glasses that looks like they’re going to fall off his nose.

“Nice shirt.” You say with an encouraging smile, wondering why Hoseok looks like he’s trying to crawl through the floor mentally. He looks up at that with almost shockingly wide eyes and you almost groan out loud.

This place is blessed or cursed. You’re not sure which yet.

He’s wearing a faded Jurassic Park shirt, the famous logo sliced by ‘dinosaur’ claws, while a pair of ever so slightly baggy and ripped denim jeans are kept up by an oversized tan fabric belt, the end trailing down to his knee. A knit grey cardigan covers his arms and you find it oddly endearing how it’s slipping off one slim shoulder, obviously far too big for him.

The shoulder bag he’s carrying also has the Back to the Future logo on it and you point at it with a grin. “Great Scott! I like your bag too.” You point then at your own chest, your shirt emblazoned with the Back to the Future logo and frown as his eyes dart down before his cheeks flush bright red.

His obvious shyness just seems to make him more endearing to you, and you let out a quiet laugh. There’s an almost awkward silence for a moment as Hoseok just stands there, giving Seokjin tiny glances before he finally sighs and points to the desk behind yours. Hoseok almost bolts there, disappearing behind the iMac and you look back at Seokjin with a raised brow.

He kneels down so he’s closer, the music of the radio that’s blasting out 80s classics drowning out anything he might say to you. “Hoseok’s a good guy, he’s just a little socially awkward. A hard worker, and he’ll do anything you ask but...it’s a little hard to get him to open up. Keep trying though, he will occasionally have a full conversation with you and I keep trying to make sure he’s included so he doesn’t feel left out. Don’t take it personally, it’s just how he is.”

Nodding, you turn on your own iMac and wait for it to boot up before going through the process of getting everything ready for you to work. Given it’s your first day, Seokjin just gives you some simple tasks to go through to help familiarise yourself with their method of working before leaving you to your own devices.

It’s as you’re sat reading through the style guideline for the blog that you watch as Hoseok suddenly appears in the corner of your vision. He’s rolled over to the edge of his desk, hands flipping through the stacked letter tray there as he searches for something while he presses his lips together and blows his cheeks out. You can’t help but watch him with idle interest as he does so.

He’s definitely cute, in fact he’s more than cute. Hoseok is actually stunningly beautiful and from the side, you’re getting to see his arresting profile with ease. A strong jawline swoops in bold lines on his face while his nose is a straight slope with the gentlest turn at the end, his lips thin but full enough to look delightfully kissable as he pouts suddenly without thinking as the tiny frown of concentration causes his strong brows to fold in.

As he finds what he needs, you watch as he disappears back behind his screen before sighing quietly to yourself.

It’s probably not very moral, but you definitely had enough new material to keep your spank bank going for a good few months now. If nothing else, you should thank Namjoon for that.

“Did you watch Roma yet?” Taehyung asks, rolling his chair backwards until he appears in your vision. His wispy blonde hair lays straight on his forehead as he rests his hands behind his neck, letting his long sleeved blue sweater stretch across his torso. It’s unusually tight for someone who basically lives in baggy clothes; you’re pretty sure he’s even worn his pyjamas once.

Over the last three months of you working at Poppin’ Culture, you’d understandably grown close with Taehyung as you’d bonded intensely over your love of film. It turns out he was also a film major with a photography minor, meaning he was exceptionally invested in the artsy films or just films with great cinematography.

You’d already been subjected to two passion filled rants of his about Mad Max: Fury Road and Blade Runner 2049 as being prime examples of great cinematography in big budget cinema. It was okay though, as you’d already chewed off his ear about why you thought Aliens was one of the best sequels ever made in history and he’d listened with interest.

There was nothing better than someone who was willing to indulge in your long winded talks about your favourite films; from cult classics to obscure favourites to Hollywood blockbusters. Your rapport with him was so good in fact, that Seokjin had had you do a test video with him to see how well you worked in front of the camera.

The results must have been positive as you’d been given a weekly film podcast with Taehyung that talked about the week’s releases along with any news in the film world. If there was time then you both would regale viewers with your favourite films and analyse them.

So far, it was doing pretty well and you were pleased with the numbers it was pulling in. Not to mention that people seemed to like your inclusion into the videos, which was why you’d ended up in a few other videos around music or even gaming just to voice over them. Taehyung had obviously been a hit.

He had a face for the camera and you’d already jokingly suggested in many a team meeting that they should make merchandise with just his face on it. His little fan club even named themselves ‘Taes Baes’.

“No, I haven’t had chance yet. I’ve been watching The Sinner, I’ve only got like two episodes left but I’ll check it out at some point! Alfonso Cuarón makes such good films; Gravity is still amazing and I’m still mind boggled at the sheer complexity of how that must have been to film with all the CGI they had to do but I feel like Roma looks a little more stripped down.”

Taehyung is nodding slowly, biting his lip almost absentmindedly as he listens to you. “Gravity is great, but you should definitely check out Children of Men. Much better, but Y Tu Mamá También is also phenomenal if you don’t mind the sexual scenes. But yeah, watch Roma. Definitely going to be a bit hit with the awards season and I can see him getting Best Director at the Oscars.”

“Really? It wouldn’t surprise me.” You muse, leaning back in your own chair and crossing your legs as you watch him now.

“Yep. And if he does win, then that’ll be his second Best Director win and it will also mean that Mexican directors have won five out of the last six. They’re killing the Oscars game lately. I still wish Barry Jenkins had won for Moonlight...way better than La La Land.” He sighs wistfully before nodding at your computer screen inquisitively, the beginnings of your latest blog post on the screen.

“Oh, I’m writing why I think Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse deserves the Best Animation at the Oscars. I liked The Incredibles and Ralph but if they win over the magnificence of Spider-Man then I will flip this table.” Pointing to your desk jokingly, Taehyung giggles sweetly.

Your desk has also changed over the last few months as well. A few cute Funko figures of your favourite Star Wars characters have popped up along with one or two more stylised figurines like your Xenomorph alien. Along with that, you’ve invested in some funky letter trays and pots to just bring some brightness to portray your personality a little more.

“I’ve not watched it yet. I know, feel free to pinch my arm. Hoseok has watched it though, he mentioned it the other day. Hey Hoseok, come here bro.” He calls out loudly, turning slightly to watch for the quiet man who spends his days on the computer behind yours.

Slowly, and adorably you might add, Hoseok’s meek face peers around the side of both his and your monitors as he stares owlishly at Taehyung beneath those outdated glasses. You’d say they were ugly, and they were, but he seemed to pull them off.

His hair is hidden today beneath a sand coloured beanie, leaving his entire face exposed and you coo softly at his tiny folded ears. It wasn’t something you’d noticed till Jimin had one day pointed over to the video editor, whispering words of adoration to you as he stared a little moon-eyed and lamented how his own ears didn’t look that cute.

It was beyond endearing, along with the slight pout his lips were pursed in. He probably hadn’t been listening to your conversation and so had no idea what was going on.

You’d noticed that Hoseok either kept an earphone in at all times or covered them with over-ear headphones when he wanted to work hard and not be disturbed. He certainly wasn’t rude but he definitely didn’t seem to be hugely confident in making conversations with people.

That didn’t stop people from trying to include him though, and you got the definite sense that everyone in the office adored Jung Hoseok and simultaneously wanted to hug him and protect him. You certainly did, and you were quite pleased that no one bullied him.

He, unfortunately, had the demeanour that would attract the attention of assholes but Seokjin and Namjoon ran a tight ship here. You did kind of wish that he got included in more outside events though.

“S-sorry. W-wh-what?” His voice is soft, the perfect mix of deep and high as he stutters out a response to Taehyung. The long sleeved shirt he’s wearing is almost salmon pink and has some generic looking cartoon on the front. It looks warm, and you find yourself lamenting the fact that you hadn’t brought a cardigan with you today.

“Spider-Man, the new one. You said to Jungkook that you’d watched it right?” There’s a moment of hesitation as Hoseok’s eyes flick to you before he’s nodding slowly. Almost immediately you grin brightly, not noticing the way that Hoseok pauses with his breath caught before his shoulders shift up to his ears.

“Oh my god, wasn’t it so good? The animation is just beautiful, it makes me want to scream. Like those cityscape shots? Could easily be mistaken for a photo if you just showed someone it. And the perfect blending of the different art styles of the Spider-People and god the music was so good. Miles is amazing and if it doesn’t win then I’m gonna Hulk out,” You pause and look at Taehyung who’s smirking in amusement. “Seriously, I don’t even know how to describe the animation. Think 3D...but not. You get me, right Hoseok?”

Hoseok’s eyes go astonishingly wide once more as you question and his mouth opens and closes a few times as he struggles to find an answer for you. He just settles for nodding quickly, reaching up to pull his beanie off and sort out his hair.

The chestnut locks have gone a bit wild under his hat and you have to bite your lip to stop laughing at how it goes all over the place, though another part of you wants to aww at how cute he looks.

“One day Hoseok, one day I’ll get you to spout poetic bullshit about a film you love.” You tease lightly, tapping at your gel wrist rest that lays alongside your keyboard to ease the pressure on your wrists as you type. He swallows audibly, causing you to laugh out loud while Taehyung chuckles and shakes his head.

“Hoseok has fucking terrible film taste. He thinks Batman v Superman was actually good.” Jungkook calls out and you turn to look at the graphic designer. He’s reclining in his chair, hands over his stomach with an ankle hooked over his knee while he observes the scene on the other side of the office.

Jimin is in the exact same position behind him while he nods his head sagely and you gasp in horror, a hand to your chest as you look back at Hoseok. “Say it isn’t so Hoseok.”

The man in question looks like he wants to sink through the floor as he gives a meagre shrug. Your wail of horror has him cringing while everyone else in the office sniggers and Taehyung pats your back in consolation.

“This can’t be. Why? Is it because your mom is named Martha too?” Jungkook lets out a bark of laughter at that while Jimin creases, folding over in his chair as his forehead rests against his knees from the force of his laugh.

Hoseok attempts to speak a few more times before he frowns deeply, taking a deep breath and shaking his head. “N-no. That was d-d-dumb. I just like Batman. I-i-it’s not my favourite f-f-film but it’s not terrible.”

You lean back and stare at him, raising a brow slowly as you narrow at your eyes at him. “What is your favourite film then?”

This is probably the most you’ve talked to Hoseok in the whole three months about non-job related work. You’re actually surprised he’s engaging this far, and you study him closely to make sure he doesn’t look uncomfortable or unhappy. The last thing you want is him to get upset.

But he doesn’t back down from your question, instead staring at something on his desk intently before looking back at you. You almost lean back in reaction, the intensity of his gaze far stronger than you’d expected and you’re surprised to feel a slight stirring of sexual lust for him. While you’d always acknowledge he was handsome - wasn’t everyone in this place? - you’d never quite seen Hoseok in a ‘oh holy cow’ light until right now.

“I-I-I don’t have one. B-b-but I like Jurassic Park and Blade Runner. And the Godfather. Oh, and Big Hero 6.” He adds as an afterthought, and you feel oddly proud that he didn’t stutter throughout the rest of the conversation. It was obviously just a nerves thing, but you kind of hope that he’ll get a bit bolder if you keep trying with him.

“Good choices. Solid. Not pretentious like the avant garde master here. He probably watches his porn in French black and white too.” A casual thumb thrown in Taehyung’s direction gets you the finger in response.

“It’s black and white softcore German, you heathen. No one does the group sex quite as good. The camera angles when there’s so many bodies.” He kisses the tips of his fingers before blowing them in the air, causing you to stare at him with a slightly grossed out face.

Looking at Jimin, you shake your head. “You know, I’ve only known the two of you for three months now. But I can easily see how you started dating. You with your weird music and books and Taehyung with your pretentious films.”

Taehyung gasps theatrically before smiling, fully aware that you’re joking around with him. Jimin on the other hand, snorts loudly and sticks his tongue out at you. “Hey, there’s nothing weird about my music choices. And what the hell. You’ve been listening to Billie Eilish non-stop lately according to your Spotify. And while she’s incredibly talented, I wish she’d lighten up a little.”

Turning to look at the cotton candy haired guy, though his hair was mostly hidden today by a black ball cap, you raise an eyebrow slowly. “Firstly, don’t insult Billie like that! Her songs are beautiful and soothe my soul. And also, this coming from the guy who listens to Morrissey. Unironically, I might add. Your opinion is invalid in this conversation.”

“...You know what. I can't even argue that. You right.” Jimin shrugs in defeat and sits back while Taehyung makes consoling noises at his boyfriend from his seat.

The delicate snort from behind your monitor makes your eyes widen, causing you to shift over slightly to watch Hoseok as he giggles. His white teeth peek out at you as he bites on his lower lip to try and contain his laugh.

And from how pretty and sweet it sounded, you wish he wouldn’t. The soft noises he lets out are oddly infectious, causing you to laugh in turn with a pretty dopey expression on your face and making you completely oblivious to the sly look Jimin and Taehyung are sharing.

“You love Imagine Dragons too, right? Hoseok listens to them all the time.” Taehyung says helpfully, gesturing with his chin towards the man behind your monitor.

Spinning back, you look at Hoseok with a happy grin and clap your hands together excitedly. “Oh my god, yes! I’m in love with Bad Liar right now, and Zero is so fun. I think Jimin keeps laughing at me for dancing in my seat.”

Hoseok doesn’t respond to you properly though, just nodding his head and smiling slightly as you playfully glare at the slim man across the office.

“On the subject of dating though...Hoseok. Have you ever had a girlfriend before? Or boyfriend, if that’s your thing.” Jimin asks, his tone not even slightly sly and you look at him in surprise. If he was trying to not be obvious, then he was being about as subtle as the Seattle Space Needle. Surely they’d already know this right?

As far as you’ve gathered, Jimin has been at Poppin’ Culture for four years and Taehyung for three. The two had started dating two years ago and despite your teasing, you were already confident that they were two of the cutest couples you’d ever seen.

Hoseok though, had apparently been with the company for years. He’d gone to college with Namjoon, Chaeyoung and Seokjin and had a film production degree. Namjoon had started Poppin’ Culture when he was 19, in his second year, and Hoseok had come on board once they’d branched out to a YouTube channel.

Still, you’re surprised by the way Hoseok’s cheeks go bright red and his eyes dart to you for a moment before he’s looking down at his desk once more. A wet tongue peeks out of his mouth quickly as he licks along his lips to wetten them, coughing to clear his throat before he’s looking back up at Jimin with a frown.

“Would you like the name of my e-e-ex-girlfriend? I’m s-s-socially awkward, not inept.” You suck your lower lip between your teeth as you look at Jimin with a ‘wtf’ look. As nice as he was, he was a bit blunt and you felt that situation could have probably done with a little more tactful handling. Hoseok looked like he could fry an egg on his cheeks and Jimin winces at the glare both Taehyung and you give him.

“Sorry man. I was out of line. I didn’t mean to insult you.” The apology is sincere in tone, with Jimin ducking his head and turning back to his work. You watch carefully as Hoseok eyes the younger man before letting out a quiet sigh and nodding his acceptance.

The atmosphere is slightly awkward now, and you’re desperate to make Hoseok less uncomfortable which is why you find yourself blurting out words you immediately want to swallow back up. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve not had a boyfriend since I was 20 and I’ve not been laid in four years.”

Almost immediately your hand is slapping over your mouth as your eyes widen in horror, apologies falling from your lips like honey as your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Not only are Hoseok’s eyes resembling dinner plates, his jaw dropped open in shock, but so is just about everyone else’s in the office. Well, that’s certainly one way to make him feel better about himself you guess.

“I’m sorry for your loss. Everyone, we need to be careful with her. She’s going through some tough times. Only 26 and already looking at a life of non-sexual fulfilment.” Taehyung drones deeply, his voice faux-sincere and you glare at him while pushing his hand off your shoulder.

“I will delete your folder of obscure foreign films.” You hiss at him through narrowed eyes, causing him to burst out into laughter as his hand slaps his thigh in amusement.

“Oh god, you crack me up. I need to thank Seokjin for hiring you, seriously. God, get on with your Spider-Man boner before you accidentally reveal something else way too intimate for the workplace to know.” He snorts before rolling back to his own desk. The office thankfully goes back to normal after that, the low level of chatter competing with the soft sounds of today’s playlist.

Looking at your screen, you’re distracted momentarily by the sight of Hoseok still in view just around your monitor. He’s looking at you in that way people do when they’ve checked out, their brains focused on something else entirely and you watch him back in amusement until he realises.

Almost immediately he cringes, bowing his head slightly and giving an uncomfortable smile before sliding back out of view. Smiling, you shake your head and pop your headphones back into your ears as you get back to work.

You’re oddly pleased to see Hoseok stand up for himself bluntly, and you remind yourself not to baby him. He’s a grown man after all, older than you.

The flashing of your phone lets you see that you’ve got a new notification from Facebook, and you roll your eyes as you click on your screen to see what it is. What you see however has you slowly smiling as a flutter of butterflies take flight in your stomach and you tap accept eagerly.

You have a new friend request: Jung Hoseok

The next few weeks roll by quickly with Taehyung and you becoming inundated with awards season nominations, ceremonies and just general Oscar bait films. It had even resulted in a whole ‘Top 10 Oscar Bait Films’ video on the Poppin’ Culture Film YouTube channel which had proven remarkably popular, even spawning a sequel that was generated purely from user comments.

You’re actually surprised with just how much you continue to love your job, even with the sheer pressure of blog and video deadlines constantly breathing down your neck. And it doesn’t take you long to realise that it’s because of the people you work with who make working that overtime all the more sweeter.

Jimin is genuinely hilarious and when paired up with Jungkook he becomes hysterical. Lisa has easily become your female work best friend, with the two of you Skyping all the time on your work computers and soon venturing out into the world to go to dinners, concerts and the cinema while Taehyung is an incredibly hard working colleague who always keeps a close on eye on how you’re doing.

It’s genuinely one of the best places you’ve ever worked and you thank all your lucky stars that you’d been accepted because you were pretty sure that you were making some of the closest friends you could.

And then there was Hoseok.

Jung Hoseok still remained a mystery to you and you weren’t entirely sure why you so desperately wanted to figure him out. Or maybe not figure him out, because you kind of liked how shy and mysterious he is.

The rest of your colleagues have been pretty open books and you were pretty sure that you were on the verge of receiving daily updates on Jimin and Taehyung’s sex life - you were that close with the two. But you still knew almost nothing about Hoseok and it drove you wild.

What was even more annoying was the fact that only you were apparently bothered by it too. The others just shrugged and said that he’d always been quiet and introverted, so they just made it clear to him that they were there if he wanted to talk or make friends with them. Apparently he never went out on the workplace socials and he rarely talked to others via text or Skype.

Which kind of infuriated you, because it probably was true that Hoseok preferred to be alone and lost in his world of music. But there must be something horribly isolating about never getting invited to things or never being included, which is why you kept trying to include him in your own conversations. The others would sometimes talk around him, but you always tried to make sure that he felt comfortable and included in your conversations.

Taehyung had honestly admitted in a meeting that he wasn’t entirely sure why you kept asking Hoseok things, pointing out that you might be annoying him. But you’d countered with the fact that you always gave Hoseok plenty of options to slip out of the conversation, yet he would continue it on sometimes.

It had been then that Taehyung had flushed a pretty golden pink, nodding his head as he acknowledged the fact that Hoseok had opened up more in the last few months of you being here than in the years he’d been here. That on its own had made your heart hurt. No one could enjoy being so easily disregarded, no matter how quiet and introverted.

Currently though, you were slouched on your couch with your best friend, Sunmi, as you both ate pepperoni pizza while watching Avengers: Infinity War for the bajillionth time. You, because you just loved the film, and her because she really loved Chris Hemsworth.

Honestly? Mood.

“I swear, this is the most badass entry scene of any entry scene in all of film,” You blurt out randomly, lifting your fist as Thor appears on screen in the middle of the battlefield and shouting out alongside him. “Bring. Me. Thanos!”

Sunmi snorts elegantly from your side, taking a bite of greasy pizza and chewing slowly while she eyes up her fictional man with pleasure. A hum of delight leaves her when Thor meets up with Captain America and you laugh, poking at her side.

“Imagine being in a Chris sandwich.” She looks at you and wiggles her carefully put together eyebrows before giggling.

“I wish. God, they can wreck me any day. You know, I can’t believe that you get to watch stuff like this and then write about it or make a video about it. Why can’t I just laze around and do that? Do they have an opening for me?” She pouts at you, placing the crust back in the box before wrapping her hands around your wrist and playfully whining.

You laugh loudly and take a bite of your own slice. “For what? Sorry Elle Woods, but you’re going to have keep your bending and snapping for the judge and jury. I doubt Poppin’ Culture - The Law Version will be very popular.”

“What about if I wear a hot pink bikini?” She says seriously, her face carefully blank as you give her a droll stare.

“Yeah sure, lemme give PornHub a call. I’m sure they’ve got a whole audience just waiting for their law lectures from Bikini Girl 3.” Sunmi shrieks with laughter at that, rolling backwards until her head is hitting the arm of the sofa and relaxing into the pile of cushions there.

Reaching her foot up, she prods at your thigh annoyingly until you push her away with a sigh.

“So, how is your work though? You’ve been spending a lot of time there. Which, by the way, is ridiculous. I only spend extra time doing work if I’m getting paid for it because I do not enjoy my job that much.” Sunmi sighs heavily, letting her arms fall behind her head as she turns her gaze back to your large television screen.

“Okay firstly, it was your decision to take a law degree. Your parents are assholes but they’re not dickish. They would have been fine with you being a doctor instead. Secondly, you make so much money an hour that you shouldn’t complain. You can literally buy a pair of Jimmy Choos with an hour.” Closing the pizza box, you lean forward and place it onto your wooden coffee table before leaning back and patting your stomach affectionately.

“Firstly you bitchass, I don’t make a lot because I’m still not fully qualified yet. It costs a lot to be a lawyer and the work is boring because I’m in property law. Yawn. Secondly, I hate property law but I would’ve passed out being a doctor. Blood and snot? No thanks. Maybe I should just give it all up and go back to college to become an artist.” She says dreamily and you look over at her with a raised brow.

“Do it. If it’s what you want. Your life shouldn’t be made on a decision you did based on what your parents wanted for you, as much as you might want to make them happy. They’re not your life, and you’ll burn out quicker if you do something you hate.” Sunmi just hums before shifting the pillows until she’s looking at you.

“Still. It’s nice that you’re enjoying it. I’m happy for you. I need to meet this Lisa, so you better set up a playdate or something. If she’s banging, I may just bang her. I mean, if you’re alright with that. And she likes girls.” Sunmi wiggles her brow and you laugh, shaking your head slowly.

“I think Lisa swings both ways honestly, so go for it. She’s pretty and cute with a really nice and fun personality. I wish I could introduce you to Jimin and Taehyung as well. They’re funny individually but hilarious together. Urgh, I wish I had someone the way Jimin eyefucks Tae across the room.”

“Does he realise you can see that?” She asks, an incredulous look on her face and you nod with a laugh.

“Oh yeah. He just gives me an innocent smile. They’re fun though and make me laugh, it’s like a family.” You sigh softly, slumping down further into the couch pillow. Sunmi’s quiet for a few seconds before speaking again.

“What about that quiet guy? Hoseok right?” Pausing, you chew on your lip as you stare blankly at the screen and wonder how to describe him to her.

“Hoseok...is sweet. Quiet but sweet. He doesn’t get involved in conversations of his own accord still, but I include him and he’ll get more involved now. We even have whole conversations just him and I, particularly about our love of 80s films though they’re not very long conversations. It’s nice, I’m literally watching him become more integrated and it’s kind of annoying that everyone just let him stagnate in his isolation. Like, seriously. Did no one ever think that maybe he doesn’t get involved because people have let him isolate himself? It’s hard to pull yourself out of that, and he’s obviously trying.” You don’t even realise you’re half ranting until you see Sunmi’s bemused smile, causing your cheeks to heat.

“Anyway, yeah. He’s a lot more caring than people think too. He just doesn’t show it in ways that you or I would, nor does he talk about them. Like...the other week I came in one morning to find a tube of dissolvable vitamin C tablets on my desk. When I asked where they’d come from, Hoseok Skyped me and said that he thought I looked like I was lacking a bit of vitamin C and to take one with water every day. And then when I was feeling a bit tired, he made me a cup of green tea. I swear Sunmi, he was so sweet and adorable because he kept stumbling over his words while telling me that green tea was healthy and rejuvenating but he didn’t like the taste so he always has peppermint and he hoped I liked peppermint too.”

Sunmi says nothing for a moment and you look at her in confusion, wondering why she’s suddenly decided to be quiet. It’s not like her to not get involved in your conversations, only she’s staring at you with wide eyes and a pretty mouth that’s fallen open.

“Oh my god. You like him.” Her words cause you to pause, frowning immediately as you shake your head in denial.

“What? No I don’t. I mean, yeah as a friend. Or I hope as a friend, but not anything more than that.” She lets out a peal of high pitched laughter while sitting up, looking closely at your face with those mahogany eyes of hers.

“Yes, you do. Oh my god, he is not even remotely your type from the sounds of it yet you’re falling hard girl. Show me a picture of him.” You want to keep denying her, mind spinning from what she’s come out with as you wonder where she’s got this impression from.

But once Sunmi has made up her mind, then it’s game over for everyone else. Sure enough, you find yourself scrolling through your phone on Facebook to find a nice picture of him to show her. And as you look through his, admittedly few, profile pictures, you pause for a moment as you realise that maybe she’s right.

Only people who like someone try and find the best looking picture of them, too afraid that their friend or family member will laugh and think their crush ugly. The swooping sensation in your stomach is confusing, and you don’t know whether it’s shy excitement or just plain old nausea.

Finally deciding on a picture of Hoseok that has obviously been taken in a coffee shop, you turn the phone screen so she can see. It’s got dim lighting, and has looks to have been taken on a Polaroid style camera from the style of it but he looks good.

In fact, he looks beautiful and his bright smile kind of takes your breath away.

He’s just wearing a plain white, long sleeved shirt with dark brown hair parted in the centre, the strands laying carelessly on his forehead while those beautiful chocolate eyes stare out from behind the lenses of his glasses. The table blocks anymore view of him and yet you can’t help but feel the fluttering in your stomach slowly spread along your veins.

Hoseok’s smiles are still rare, but they’ve slowly been becoming more frequent as you continue to talk to him. And every time you think he should smile more often, because he has a face that’s made for a smile.

His mouth is stretched wide with perfectly white, straight teeth showing and the force of the expression causes his eyes to narrow, soft tan cheeks looking adorably kissable.

Oh, you’re totally fucked.

“Holy shit…are you kidding me? This is Quiet Guy? Shy Guy? Holy fuck girl. He’s gorgeous! Look at that smile, oh my god. And he has such pretty eyes, that’s just not fair. Oh, please go for him. I know I said that he’s not your type because you normally like either those hipster guys or bad boys but he looks like he’d be so good for you. He looks kind, like you’d call him and say you’re sick and he comes right over to make you food and wraps you up in a blanket before cuddling with you, telling you that you need body heat to stay warm.” You look at her with a raised brow as she takes your phone and scrolls through his photos.

“And he obviously likes you.” Her words throw you then, causing you to frown as you stare before finally asking why she thinks.

“Because you said it yourself. He talks to you, even when he doesn’t talk to the others. You’ve said he keeps conversations going with you. He added you on Facebook first and he’s taking care of you in a weird but cute way of flirting. Like I said, he looks like he’d be a good boyfriend because he’s already trying to make sure you’re healthy and okay.”

She hands your phone back and points at the screen, where a new photo of Hoseok is. It’s not from his profile pictures, so you just presume it’s one that someone took of him and tagged him in. He’s asleep on his side on a couch, his right cheek smooshed into a pillow while his other looks soft and round. Pink lips pout in his sleep, the ends turned up while his lashes remain firmly closed and his hair is all over the place.

You have the strongest urge to reach through the screen to kiss his cheek.

“I think you should think on it, because I know you. And you’re probably having a little internal argument right now about whether or not you like him. But...if you decide that you do. Then I think you should go for it, because he looks nice. Get to know him a bit more, get him to open up his walls to you a bit more and then see if he really is interested. It’s been a while since you smiled like that about someone, and even longer since you searched through their pictures to find me the most flattering.” Dammit, you knew she’d figure you out.

You don’t respond though, simply locking your phone and placing it down on the cushion next to you as you both turn your attention back to the film. But you can’t help the what if’s that float around in the back of your mind, wondering if perhaps she’s right not only about yourself, but also him.

Did Hoseok like you?

Quite understandably, your interactions with Hoseok are suddenly tinged with a film of awkwardness as you contemplate the fact that you quite possibly like your shy colleague. And that’s to say nothing of how closely you watch his interactions with you to see if there’s a chance that he likes you in the way you like him.

Honestly, anyone would think you were 14 and not 26.

But he made you feel like a teenager though. The fluttering of nervous excitement in your stomach whenever he would look at you with that soft, bashful smile he’d give you whenever he caught your eye in the office. The way you would feel sad resentment when he was ill or was working from home and so didn’t come in.

How could you not though? Not only was he soul wrenchingly handsome and pretty, he was also thoughtful with the few conversations he would engage in and he was so sweet and kind.

When you’d complimented him on the peppermint green tea he’d brought you the other week, you found yourself with a mug being made every time he got up to go to the kitchen. You’d be completely absorbed in your work, staring at your screen intently with headphones in to keep distractions at bay, when you’d suddenly smell the pleasant scent of peppermint drifting to your nose.

And then you’d look to your side and see a fresh cup of tea sat there, steaming slowly in your Star Wars mug.

A quick glance behind your screen would let you see Hoseok staring firmly at his screen, refusing to look at you and yet his cheeks tinging a rosy glow that made your heart tug. It was only fair to respond in kind, and so you’d taken to making him a cup of your favourite tea as well, delicious salted caramel, and leaving it on his desk.

He hadn’t complained, so you took that as a sign that he enjoyed it too.

Maybe others would look at your interactions with laughter or bemusement, but you liked them. If he was flirting with you, because let’s face it you were flirting with him, then you were quietly excited and hopeful. You could cope with glacial, as long as it would hopefully result in something at the end.

Currently, you were attempting to film a video talking about the films that were snubbed completely at the Oscars. Taehyung had written up the script for you but was suffering from a winter cold at home. You’d claim man-flu, only you’d video called him and seen the dark circles under his eyes, sallow skin and bright red nose as he’d sniffled and snorted his way through your conversation.

As a result, you’d had to grab your emergency make-up kit from your drawer and rush to the bathroom to apply it. Today had been a lazy day; meaning you were just wearing a pair of ratty black jeans and an ancient Star Wars shirt that had once been black but was now an odd shade of grey.

Once you’d felt that you looked at the very least passable to the potentially thousands upon thousands of people who would be watching your face, you rush back through the office to place your kit back before heading over to the recording room. Tapping on the door lightly, you open it up to find Hoseok and Lisa inside as they set up the camera and lighting.

Already, the big ring lights are glaring and you’re feeling hot as you move over to the two, watching as they mess with the camera before checking over the computer on the desk next to it. Lisa moves around to the front, standing over the duct tape X on the floor and clipping the tiny microphone onto her shirt while waiting for Hoseok.

He’s wearing a plain white shirt today with a yellow and black check shirt open over the top and a plain pair of jeans. For some reason, he’s apparently decided to emulate Jungkook and is wearing some tan Timberland’s as well, though they surprisingly work well with the outfit.

You’ve noticed that Hoseok isn’t exactly the most fashionable person, but he’s yet to wear something that you find genuinely offensive. In fact, you often find that he manages to look hot even when he really shouldn’t. Maybe it’s just a talent attractive people have?

Hoseok gives a small nod to Lisa as his eyes flicker up from the screen, the light being reflected in his glasses. Lisa begins to talk random nonsense, performing a soundcheck to make sure the microphone is working properly while also making sure the camera’s fine.

Once done, she helps you to thread the microphone through your shirt and clip it on while placing the main pack into your back pocket. You stand on the X while going over the script that you can read on the screen reader facing you on the table.

Lisa slips away while you’re busy practicing, going through quick vocal exercises to warm your voice up as you continue to read over what you’re going to say. In your mind, you’re already visualising what the video will look like and you kind of feel sad that Taehyung can’t do this. It’s a good script.

“Okay. Are you ready?” Hoseok’s voice is soft and light, every word sounding like it has been cautiously thought of before he speaks it. You smile slightly as your head nods forward in response to him before clearing your throat and clenching your hands a few times while letting out a deep breath.

“Am I in the right place?” Looking down at the floor, you make sure that your feet are squarely on the spot and Hoseok looks through the camera before giving a cute okay symbol with a wink and pressed smile. It causes you to bite your own lower lip, desperately keeping inside the ‘cute’ that wants to escape.

“Okay, recording in three...two…” He stops speaking after that and mouths out the final one before pressing the button to record, a red light sparking to life on the camera and immediately you’re smiling brightly.

There’s no real pressure on you to do a good take in one shot, because Hoseok will be editing the scenes together and making some shorter to suit the video anyway. But you don’t really like wasting unnecessary hard drive space for him if possible. Plus, it just means he has to stare at your foolish facial expressions for longer and you’d really rather not.

On that note, it’s a little unfair that he gets to watch your face up close with a 4K camera. Actually, you’ve never thought about that before and almost immediately your brows crease at the thought of him seeing every pore and blemish on your skin. Christ, the camera does not do anyone justice and you want to whine at the thought of him seeing all your bad points in such harsh lighting.

When you don’t actually start speaking and instead start making a distressed face, Hoseok’s head peeks out from behind the monitor and he frowns at you in turn. Eyes focusing on his pretty visage, you have to squint slightly to see him properly from behind the astonishingly bright lights set up but you shake your head to reassure him.

Rolling your head on your shoulders and blowing bubbles with your lips, completely unaware of the tiny amused smile on Hoseok’s lips as he watches you through the monitor, you force yourself to get back into the zone.

The rest of the hour spent recording goes more or less like usual, with multiple outtakes when you mess things up and cause yourself to laugh. One of the hardest things of recording videos is just being able to being able to speak properly. You’ve had to learn to over-enunciate sometimes to avoid slurring your words together, because that just encourages hate from viewers.

And you are not in the mood to get hate. It’s already hard enough being a female commentator on the channel, and you’d had to grow some pretty thick skin in both the comments and on your own social media.

But there were plenty of equally great people too in fairness, and you’d even kind of got to know some regular viewers from the constant interactions you got both on your videos and on your own Twitter account. It was nice to have a mini fan club of people who were willing to defend you against the trolls and raise you up when you’re feeling down, though it’s not nearly as many as Taehyung’s extortionately big legion of fans.

There’s only a few major mishaps this time, with a few pronunciations of your words going horrifically bad and you find yourself cringing. Hoseok has a good chuckle on occasion and the bright bubbles of his laughter make you smile in turn, heart sparking with happiness at making him laugh.

Once Hoseok gave the signal to indicate that he was pretty happy with the recording, you let your shoulders drop while your head falls back on your shoulders, a deep groan leaving you as your entire body relaxes. Reaching to pull the microphone and its pack from under your shirt, you move over to Hoseok as he turns the light and camera off before he’s checking over the computer to transfer the new video files to his solid state drive.

“Did everything look good in it?” You ask, leaning your hip against the desk while your arms cross over your chest. Hoseok pauses for a moment at your close proximity before looking up at you slowly, his beautiful brown eyes looking sweetly innocent and big as he takes you in.

It’s still ridiculously endearing how shy he gets around you, but what you like even more is how it’s only when he’s not doing work related things. The last hour has been spent with him practically bossing you around, barking out polite requests when you’ve moved out of frame or have said something wrong.

He wasn’t mean about it or anything, he just took his job very seriously and it’s what made him such a damn good videographer and video editor. He knew what he needed and wasn’t afraid to tell people what to do in regards to that, so the sudden reversal back into the meek Hoseok tugged at your heart.

“Y-yeah. You did good. Less bad shots today.” You pout at him theatrically before pushing lightly at his shoulder, just enough to make him rock where he stands.

“Hey! There’s no need to be mean. You make it sound like I’m as bad Yugyeom! I don’t mess up that bad.” Lower lip sticking out, you look down at the floor until Hoseok lets out a soft and breathy laugh, shaking his head while adjusting his glasses slightly.

“I-I didn’t mean-. I’m not saying anything else,” He looks at you and gives you a wry smile. “I-I’m not stupid. I think I’ve dug enough of my own grave here.”

You can’t help but laugh out at that as you lean forward, body moving of its own accord before you move around him and rest your hand on his shoulder. It’s warm and solid beneath your palm, even through the layers he’s wearing and you swallow in sudden awareness of the firmness of him.

He freezes in place subtly as well, the muscles under your fingers tensing a little as neither of you move for a moment. It’s the first time you’ve ever touched him, and neither of you really seem to know what to do.

Swallowing, you let out a chuckle that’s a little higher pitched than you perhaps intended but you try to make it sound as natural as you can. Even if you’re feeling a little overwhelmed now when your hand feels warm and bizarrely sweaty.

“Funny, you’re way funnier than I thought Hobi!” The nickname you’d overheard Seokjin calling him once slips out without meaning to and you cringe with gritted teeth behind his back, taking your hand off his shoulder to pinch your leg at your stupidity. “Well, I hope it goes well. Let me know if there’s anything you need from me or just when it’s done so I can look it over? Thanks and bye!”

You can’t stop how fast the words fall from your lips, a faucet stuck on full when what you really want is a vault so tight not even the crown jewels of England can get out of it. Giving him an awkward smile, you book it out of the recording room as quickly as you can and leave him alone.

In fact, you go so fast that you don’t get to see the way Hoseok watches after you with widened eyes of shock which soon melt into half-moons of unguarded happiness in the quiet room. His hand shakes as it moves up to press at the place your own hand had been, the skin feeling prickly underneath and his breath shakes as a hesitant smile slowly paints its way on his face.

You don’t see that, nor do you see the way he pauses on a close up of your face with a fond smile before closing the programme down and leaving.

1K notes · View notes

writemarvelousthings · 5 years

Text

Walk Me Home

PAIRING- Steve Rogers x reader

WORD COUNT- 2.7K

WARNINGS- Just a lot of modern au domestic fluff

Summary: The five times Steve walks you home.

A/N: Listen I’m a music slut okay and as soon as I heard Pink’s new song I couldn't get this concept out of my head. The fic isn’t based on the song but rather inspired by it! I hope you all enjoy!

GIF NOT MINE

“You’re really telling me it was that bad?! Mandy told me he was a complete dreamboat”

“The first mistake is believing Mandy about anything” you chuckled scribbling down a line of information that could be useful to you.

“Well, there’s plenty more fish in the sea” Natasha shrugged, shoving her books back in her bag.

“Easy to say when you’re not running out of bait” you smirked at the annoyed look on her face.

“Don’t take it personally Tasha, we don’t all have the perfect man at our Buck and call” you couldn’t help the shit eating grin spreading across your face as Nat pursed her lips.

“You think you’re really funny don’t you?”

“Hilarious actually, now get out of here before James has a hernia looking for you” Gathering her belongings you arch a brow at the giddy expression on her face.

“Don’t burn the midnight oil too long” leaning down she pecks you on the cheek as you push her along wishing her goodnight. Turning back to the pages of notes in front with a distinct lack of enthusiasm, whoever said college was the best years of your life had some serious explaining to do.

“Last minute study for Fury too?” The deep voice made your head snap up, the muscles that were hunched over protested deeply at the sudden change in direction.

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for punishment” You felt something inside you flip, your stomach maybe even a kidney at the sound of Steve Roger’s deep genuine laugh. He was quite possibly the most attractive guy on campus and to make it even worse he was the nicest guy you had ever met. Not even a disgusting, shallow silly flaw could deter your slowly growing crush on the six-foot tower of muscle and Brooklyn charm.

“Seems like we both are” Steve gestured to the book bag slung over his shoulder, smiling softly you leaned back on your chair.

“That big rowdy clubhouse of your’s too loud?” rolling his eyes and you felt that internal organ flip again.

“Firstly it’s a frat house and secondly none of them was stupid enough to take Fury’s class” You laugh knowingly, composing yourself you open your mouth but a third voice cuts through you.

“I’m afraid the library is closing now everyone” another annoying thing about this campus, the faculty actually cared about your sleeping patterns. Groaning you quickly gather up your things as Steve leans against the bookshelves behind you.

“Did I hear right or did you go on a date with Quill?” you felt the prickle of annoyance and embarrassment at the teasing tone in Steve’s voice.

“You overheard correctly, and it was a flop if you must know” picking up your belongings you headed for the exit, Steve hot on your heels.

“Peter’s a decent guy….different but decent”

“Well, any girl is lucky to have him. But it’s not going to be me” you braced yourself at the cold sting of the outside air, zipping your jacket up higher you glanced around. Even though the campus was patroled by security you still couldn’t help the wave of fear at the prospect of walking back alone to your dorm.

“Want me to walk you home sweetheart?” you cursed Steve’s observation, you weren’t some weak damsel in distress needing a man to escort her back. But the dull lamp lights and the damp air made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“Are you sure? Isn’t your place on the other side of the Campus?” Steve shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of the smooth brown leather jacket he was sporting.

“Wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t sure, besides in this day and age I’m pretty sure my Ma would have my ass if I didn’t make sure you got home safe and sound. So?” You couldn’t help the smile as Steve held out his arm, curling your own around it you found yourself flooded with Steve’s warmth.

“You’re one of a kind Rogers”

“I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may now kiss the bride” you gave a watery laugh along with the rest of the congregation as Bucky dipped Natasha in a deep romantic kiss. The wedding had been beautiful, surprisingly nothing had gone drastically wrong. The one factor you were not expecting was seeing Steve Rogers again. He was even more handsome in the five years since you had seen him on that last day of college, the bastard had even grown a beard. In the years since those carefree days at college, your little group had disbanded around the world in search of work and their purpose in life. Although you never forgot about Steve, especially the night he walked you home.

“I think congratulations should be awarded to you as well” spinning around on the bar you faced Steve, his suit jacket discarded, his tie loose around his neck. He looked like every bit the man that had started in your dreams during the last year of college.

“And why’s that?” Lifting the champagne flute to your lips you watched as Steve eyed the golden liquid as it spilled into your mouth.

“Heard about your business startup” you smirk into your glass.

“Well, I did do all the flower arrangements” Steve smiled impressively.

“Is that why you weren’t in the bouquet toss?” you swallowed the urge to upturn your lips at Steve’s slightly worried expression. Was he worried you were taken?

“It wouldn’t be right to catch my own work, besides I hear rumours that Wanda and Viz will be the next walking down the aisle.”

“I doubt Nat would be thrilled of someone taking the thunder on her big day”

“Are you calling Tasha a bridezilla, careful now. That's your best friends wife your talking about” Steve smirked in that, oh so charming knee buckling way that had you breathless.

“I suppose it is. Wow, wife. When did we get old enough to get married again?”

“When we all realised that partying until two am wasn’t as fun as it once was” you felt your heart flutter at the sound of Steve’s joyful laugh.

“You calling it a night too sweetheart?” nodding you gestured to your discarded heels on the floor beside your stool.

“I called it a night the moment those monstrosities came off my feet”

“Can I walk you back to your room?” nodding you slip your hand into his, glancing over your shoulder you lock eyes with Natasha in Bucky’s arms. Giving you a knowing smile as you enter the elevator.

“You know, the last time I walked you home I forgot to ask you something” rummaging in your small clutch you pull out your key card.

“Hmm? And what’s that Rogers?” Leaning up against the door you find yourself gazing up at bright blue irises.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date with me?” you watched Steve suddenly mess with his tie, he was nervous. It made your heart flip even more.

“I know you weren’t in the bouquet toss and this might be totally out of line but maybe... I just thought..”

“I’d love too”

“I’m so sorry, honestly I didn’t think it was going to be like that” you couldn’t help the string of loud obnoxious laughter. As first dates go, it wasn’t the best. In fact, things seemed to just keep happening that was obviously not planned. Steve was running late, apparently being a new hotshot lawyer meant he was constantly bombarded with unforeseen issues in the office. He arrived at the restaurant apologising profusely. Then it was one thing after another, the waiter spilled the wine across the table. Then you got the wrong order then when you did eventually get the right one it was stone cold. And to top it all off there was an incident with the couple next to you involving a flaming souffle. Okay, maybe it was one of the worst dates you had been on. But you didn’t care, somehow you were lost in Steve’s eyes. Despite the man being on the brink of a panic attack.

“Steve please it’s okay, I actually had a really good time” Steve looked at you unconvinced as you held the take out container of your complimentary dessert under your arm.

“Can I at least walk you home?” you pretend to think on it, allowing the man to sweat just a little be more before grinning.

“I live five blocks down, come on Romeo” pulling Steve along your laughter mixing together as you navigate the still bustling night time streets of New York. As you walked you watched as Steve relaxed with each step, he even managed to curl his arm over your shoulder pulling you into his side. That familiar warm safe feeling came flooding back to you as you gazed up at him, his profile illuminated by the fluorescent street lights causing harsh shadows to pass over his face. But somehow despite all of that he still looked breathtaking.

“So, do I still have a shot at a second date?” Steve looked almost scared to ask, stopping at your appartment entrance you bit your lip.

“That depends” you reply cryptically

“On what?” Steve’s voice shook slightly

“On how you kiss me” you didn’t get a verbal response, only the feeling of being pulled flush agaisnt Steve. His scent filling your sense as his soft lips pressed firmly against your own, the slight scratch of his beard had you running your hands up his biceps. The dessert container falling to the floor long forgotten as Steve kissed the breath out of you leaving you lightheaded and longing for more.

Closing your eyes you allowed the warm breeze to ruffle your hair, it made your cotton dress billow out behind you as you listened to the sound of waves crashing along the shoreline. Opening your eyes you smiled at the sight of the moon hanging high in the sky.

“It’s such a beautiful night tonight” you mused, curling your toes in the sand. A large warm hand curls its way around your waist, pulling you in to lean against the wall of strong muscle.

“Not as beautiful as you” you hum unconvincingly.

“You have to say that, you’re my husband”

“I’m the only one who can say it because I’m your husband” Steve grinned, kissing the top of your head. Laughing you lean into Steve’s embrace more. Enjoying the quiet moment, the last few years with Steve had been everything you could have hoped for and more. But the last six months planning the wedding and running a business you had eagerly waited for your honeymoon. And now you were here, standing in the moonlight with your husband. Even thinking the word sent butterfly exploding in your chest.

“Will you allow me to walk you back Mrs Rogers?” turning in his arms you reach up to press a soft kiss to his lips, humming as his hands roam down your back to rest just above your ass.

“Lead the way, Mr Rogers” Grinning, Steve’s hands grasped yours. Spinning you around under his arm you smiled as you started your treck back down the beach to the villa.

“Do you remember Nat and Buck’s wedding?” You tear your eyes from the water, looking up at Steve. The white linen shirt straining painfully across his shoulders.

“If I remember correctly that’s where you first asked me out on our first date” Steve groaned, nuzzling the top of your head.

“Don’t remind me” you grinned at the annoyance in Steve’s voice.

“It wasn’t that bad baby, but go on. Nat and Bucky’s wedding” you pressed him to finish his train of thought.

“It was a disaster and you know it...I hadn’t seen you in five years, yet the moment I saw you. In that dress, I just knew..”

“Knew what?” you could see the lights of the villa in the distance as you continued your walk, the waves lapping at your feet.

“That if I let any other man whisk you away I would regret it for the rest of my life” you were glad that the light of the moon couldn’t pick up the bush that was creeping its way up your neck.

“And do.. you have any regrets so far?”

“Only one... that I should have asked you out a lot sooner than I did” you were sure your heart was a puddle of goo in your chest right now, pulling Steve to a stop you ran your hands up his chest. Allowing that familair warmth to seep into your soul.

“Better late than never”

“She’s completely out cold” you couldn’t help but laugh softly, brushing the soft blonde tresses out of the small sleeping face.

“Well, she does take after her mother that way” If your husband wasn’t holding your sleeping daughter in his arms you would have punched him for that comment.

“Thanks for coming guys, I know Alexi really had a good time” Bucky smirked leading against the doorframe as Natasha curled up under his arm. Her slight baby bump visible through her baggy shirt.

“I don’t think wild horses could have kept Sarah from coming, she takes after her father that way” you give Steve a look that makes Nat chuckle.

“That was a low blow” Steve chastistes you gently, still carefully cradling your four-year-old.

“Get home safe you three” Nat pulls Bucky closer, the cold winter air holding the promise of snowfall.

“It’s not too far to walk, I’ll see you on Monday Buck”

“See ya pal”

“You better call me the moment you find out the sex tomorrow” you point a finger to Nat who laughs resting a hand on her bump.

“You know I will, Goodnight guys”

You walked side by side as Steve carefully carried Sarah, making sure not to disturb her as you made your way back to your house. You remember the day you had told Steve you were pregnant, scared. No, terrified was a better word to describe how you felt the moment the word left your mouth. You hadn’t even had the discussion of children, hell you were still unpacking things from your honeymoon when you took the test. But you wouldn’t trade Sarah for anything in the world, she was your little sunflower and Steve was besotted with her. From the moment they placed her in his arms you knew that he was done for.

“She really had a good time tonight” Steve beamed over at you, you couldn't help mirror his actions as you gently run your hand up and down her back.

“I think she’s gonna be talking about this night for weeks” Steve laughed in agreement but stopped suddnely as Sarah stirred softly.

“It’s okay baby, go back to sleep Daddy’s got you” Steve cooed in her ear, soothing her back in the crook of his neck. You walk in a comfortable silence the rest of the way home, you open the door as quietly as you can allowing Steve to enter and take Sarah upstairs to bed. You had the good sense to change Sarah into her pyjamas at the Barnes’s knowing she would be fast asleep by the time you ready to leave. Making sure to lock the front door and turn off the lights you follow Steve up the stairs to your room. You could hear Steve humming softly through the wall as you ready yourself for bed, slipping under the covers thanking whoever invented self-timed headed blankets.

“She really is your daughter, completely out like a light” Steve chuckled, pulling off his clothes and slipping a pair of old tracksuit pants which you had a hunch was from your college day. Following you into bed you turn to face him, you wonder briefly if he knew. All those years ago in the old drafty library that one day you would be laying side by side, a little older and a litter greyer maybe but together and just as in love since the moment you looked up to see that boyish grin smiling down at you.

“And for that comment, you can get up with her in the morning” Steve lets out a snort of laughter as he pulls you into your side, kissing your forehead. You rest your head on his chest, your hand coming to settle on his collar bone. His own hand gently exploring the plains of your back.

“Steve”

“Mmm?”

“Thanks for walking us home”

“It was my pleasure sweetheart”

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers au #steve rogers x reader au #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #my writing

688 notes · View notes

anistarrose · 5 years

Text

Fateful Detours - Ch. 1 (Gravity Falls x Infinity Train)

Summary: Ford misses his bus to Backupsmore, and tries to catch a ride on a train instead.

Warnings: none for this chapter

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331070/chapters/48205837

(The Middle) (The End)

I’ve been craving a Gravity Falls/Infinity Train crossover for weeks now, so several late-night bursts of inspiration later, here we are! (Expected to be a 3-chapter fic, probably slightly under 10k words. I’m notoriously bad at word count estimates, but I’m pretty confident about the chapter count.)

(Big Infinity Train spoilers, by the way! In case that wasn't obvious.)

***

Ford’s room looked emptier than he could ever remember it being, and he was eager to leave it as soon as he could.

Carefully, he folded one last dress shirt and laid it down in his suitcase, which took some effort to zip closed. Most of his books, and a few bare-bones pieces of furniture, had already been taken to his Backupsmore dorm room, but his mother had insisted that he wait until the day before freshman orientation to move out of the house in Glass Shard Beach. And Ford had obliged, reluctantly.

He took a quick look under the bunk bed to make sure he wasn’t missing anything, but found nothing but dust bunnies. The bunk bed was a big part of why he was in such a rush to leave — sleeping in it every night still stung, a reminder of all the upheavals and betrayals and dashed hopes from last spring that had redirected his whole life and ruined his future.

And there was plenty of time to dwell on all that each night, because Ford still wasn’t used to falling asleep without someone else in the room.

He tried to slip out the front door without anyone noticing, but Caryn caught him.

“Hold it right there, Stanford!” she called. “You’re not seriously about to leave for college without giving your dear old Ma a hug first, are you?”

“Mom, I’m going to miss the bus at this rate,” Ford grumbled, but he gave her a quick hug as she kissed his forehead.

Filbrick watched from the stairs, looking neither proud nor disappointed.

“Did you pack your suit and tie?” he asked.

“Yes, Dad. They’re already in the dorm room.”

“Good. Now, go impress some smart people.”

“In Backupsmore, I’m not sure how many other smart people there’ll be to impress,” Ford muttered under his breath. Then, raising his voice, he added: “Well… goodbye, I guess. I’ll call you when I get there, Mom.”

The bus stop was about halfway across town, and if the last bus of the day was actually running on time for once, Ford suspected he’d be cutting it close, so he walked down the street at a brisk pace.

I’ve got everything I need, right? No more textbooks to bring along, no one else to say goodbye to…

He paused as he passed the sidewalk offshoot that led to the beach. His suitcase kept rolling, its extendable handle jabbing into his back.

Had he left anything on the Stan O’ War? He hadn’t been there since… well, since the argument…

He rubbed his back, took a look at his watch and did some quick mental math, and started to head for the beach.

Just a quick detour. The bus will probably be late anyways.

***

The boat wasn’t quite as much of a wreck as he’d feared, but enough of a wreck that he still couldn’t help but feel guilty.

Splotches of seagull poop dotted the deck, and something reeked like some small animal had gotten stuck under the planks and died. Pools of off-color water from last week’s rainstorms welled up in corners, and worst of all, the flag had evidently been stolen.

Ford shooed away a few gulls as he boarded the boat and examined the contents of the cabin: a cheap compass, a slightly water-damaged vexillology book, and an unopened bag of toffee peanuts.

“What am I doing?” He shook his head. “Why did I think I’d find anything useful here?!”

As he stormed off the boat, he could’ve sworn that the creaking of the planks beneath his feet sounded… disappointed. And lonely.

“No!” he muttered to himself, surely confusing anyone who might’ve been watching. “I’m not going to get guilted into missing my bus by an inanimate object! It is perfectly normal for me to feel nostalgic, against my better judgement, for a project I poured hours of work into, but it is also perfectly logical to leave it behind now. This was an unrealistic dream, and now I’m finally moving on to a more realistic one!”

He checked his watch, and sped up his pace. Assuming the last bus to Backupsmore was running late again, he should’ve still been able to make it…

He rounded the corner just in time to see the bus pulling away — slightly behind schedule, but not nearly as much as usual. Not quite as much as Ford had needed.

“Wait!” he yelled, breaking into a sprint and waving frantically in an attempt to catch the driver’s attention, but the wheels of his suitcase hit a bump in the side walk and he lost his grip on the handle. By the time he’d picked it up again, the bus was long gone.

“Well, fuck my whole life, I guess!” Ford muttered. He had half a mind to just lie down on the sidewalk and stay there until someone decided he was being too much of a nuisance and dragged him away. Why had he thought checking on the boat would be a worthwhile use of his time? Why had he ever thought the boat would be worth anything?

He pulled out his Backupsmore brochure and double-checked the orientation schedule — it didn’t start until ten the next morning. That was more than enough time to take a series of taxis, or hitchhike, or something — because spending another night in his parents’ house just wasn’t an option. Not with Caryn doting on her one remaining son with an enthusiasm meant for two, not with Filbrick constantly grilling Ford on how he planned to first make a good impression and later make a fortune, and certainly not with that empty, empty room and that goddamn bunk bed.

So Ford took a moment to stretch his already-sore arms, and then set off in the general direction of the road to Backupsmore.

***

Hitchhiking wasn’t as easy as Ford had hoped it would be, and the storm brewing overhead didn’t seem to do much to make drivers feel more sympathetic towards his plight.

“At least it’s not actually raining yet,” Ford said to himself, and was immediately met with a droplet of water striking his glasses. “Damn it.”

As he dried them off with his shirt, he heard a ear-grating ringing sound coming from ahead, and looked up to see the arms of the railroad gate closing. “Damn it!”

For a second, he seriously considered making a mad dash for it, trying to duck under the gate and get across the tracks before the train could block them — but that moment of hesitation was all the train needed to speed into view.

And then, as if to to add insult to injury, it ground to a halt, blocking the road and stretching as far as the eye could see in either direction.

“Oh, come on!” Ford groaned as a few more raindrops struck his glasses. “Has the whole universe collectively decided not to cut me a single break today?!”

He took a deep breath. “Okay, calm down. I can probably sneak between the cars and get across…”

He blinked a few times as he approached the tracks, vision blurred by his wet glasses. Strangely, it looked less like the freight trains Ford was used to and more like a passenger train, with windows illuminated by a neon green light that stood out in the stormy August afternoon.

He took a step towards the stairs near the back of a car, and to his surprise, the destination sign lit up to read Backupsmore University.

Which was weird, because this railroad crossing in the middle of nowhere didn’t seem like a train station, but Ford wasn’t about to let his good fortune go to waste. Lifting up his suitcase, he cautiously placed a foot on the first step…

A vortex of shimmering green and gold lit up the staircase, and before Ford could even react, everything went white.

***

Something poked Ford in the face, and he groaned, rolling to the side. “Five more minutes…”

He was met with a hissing noise that absolutely did not belong in his bedroom, and he instinctively swatted at the source of the sound. He opened his eyes just in time to see a bright orange praying mantis the size of his hand go flying.

“Ugh! What kind of dorm room is —”

His voice cut off as his eyes adjusted, and he took in his surroundings. Trees as tall as skyscrapers with leaves colored like bursts of flames surrounded him, and the sky overhead was a deep emerald green.

“Oh,” Ford muttered. “So I’m concussed and hallucinating. Wonderful.”

He heard the hissing sound again, and looked down to see the mantis approaching his foot, almost perfectly camouflaged atop the blanket of orange and crimson leaves that covered the forest floor. The only feature that stood out were its large blue-gray eyes, which showed more emotion than Ford had ever seen in an insect, looking almost… apologetic?

It chirped, and darted off between the trees, doubling back a moment later when it realized Ford wasn’t following it. It waved a scythe-like arm in the air, as if beckoning him.

“Hallucinating, and anthropomorphizing the emotions of a non-sapient insect,” Ford muttered to himself. “Unless I got… transported to another dimension, but how could that possibly —”

He looked down at his hands, expecting to see a clear indicator that he was dreaming like an incorrect number of fingers, but all six — and no more — were present on each hand. But that wasn’t all.

On his right palm was a number, green and glowing and unchanging:

166

“This — this is just some kind of cruel joke! Would I hallucinate this?” He waved his hand in the air, wiped it on his shirt, spat on it and rubbed it with his thumb — but nothing even caused the glow to fade, much less wash off. “What the hell?”

The mantis hissed again, then began to scuttle off, and Ford got the distinct impression that it was getting impatient, and wouldn’t wait around for him another time. So he followed it, weaving between trees and listening to leaves crunch beneath his feet as he stepped over twisted roots and gurgling streams.

It was a genuinely beautiful scene, he had to admit. Under different circumstances, he might’ve stopped to do a sketch — though he struggled to imagine a scenario in which he’d be so unfazed by alien worlds that he’d feel comfortable just sitting down and taking a moment to draw.

As he walked, he checked the contents of his backpack — it contained everything he’d packed in it earlier that afternoon, as far as he could remember — but realized his suitcase was nowhere in sight. Which wasn’t a unfixable, since there hadn’t been anything in it that he couldn’t replace, but sure wasn’t great news either. He didn’t have the money to buy books whenever he felt like it, especially with classes starting in the fall. (Assuming he even had a chance to get out of whatever this place was and back to Backupsmore, that was.)

The mantis came to a halt, and Ford, lost in thought, only barely avoided stepping on it. It faced the largest tree Ford had seen yet, easily fifteen feet in diameter — but strangest of all was the door carved into the trunk, one lone sign of human involvement in what otherwise appeared to be an untouched wilderness.

The mantis turned back to Ford, chirped twice, and then sprung into a nearby bush, disappearing from sight. Not having any better plans, Ford shrugged and twisted the golden handle of the door. It swung open with a metallic creaking noise, but little resistance, to reveal…

Finally, the memory of boarding the train at the railroad crossing returned to Ford as he found himself staring at the bridge between two colossal train cars. As he stepped through the door, a gust of dry air instantly hit him, and he realized the train was speeding through a barren wasteland, devoid of any signs of civilization as far as he could see.

And he was pretty sure of two things: first, that this didn’t resemble any environment in the northeastern United States, and second, that he hadn’t been unconscious long enough for the train to leave that region.

“This is another dimension? Or maybe a series of pocket dimensions? Unless…” He ducked back inside the forest car, and on a hunch, attempted to walk past the door’s tree. Sure enough, his face smacked into a wall, and the hyper-realistic image of the continuing forest path flickered for a moment.

“Not so much pocket dimensions as sophisticated simulations, then,” Ford concluded, readjusting his glasses and rubbing his sore nose. He was probably going to wind up with a bruise. “Assuming the other cars work under the same rules…”

He hurried across the bridge between cars, grimacing as he looked down. Trying to jump down to the wasteland would be a reckless decision even by his standards, given the massive height drop as well as the lack of shelter or resources as far as the eye could see. Besides, it was the train that held so many unanswered mysteries and potentially infinite environments to explore…

Ready to experience the discovery of a lifetime, Ford opened the next door, and found himself facing a classroom of screaming beavers.

There were about two dozen of them, and they made an unbearable racket as they threw themselves across the room, hurling school supplies at each other and gnawing on the wooden legs of their own desks and chairs. None of the students stood any taller than Ford’s knees, but their sheer numbers made it impossible for the teacher to control them. He was the lone anthropomorphic animal out of the bunch, appearing to be a perfectly normal human man except for his beaver head and tail, and he kept trying to smack the unruly students on their heads with a yardstick — only for one of them to snatch it out of his hands, and gnaw it in half in a matter of seconds.

The teacher stared at Ford with wide, pleading beaver eyes. Ford stared back.

“Why the fuck,” he asked, “did you give them desks made of wood?!”

A single tear ran down the beaver teacher’s cheek.

“What else were you expecting to happen?!” Ford shouted.

The teacher crumpled to the floor, curling into the fetal position as he began to softly weep. Ford started to cautiously make his way through the classroom, carefully stepping over beavers while holding his sleeve over his face to avoid inhaling any sawdust.

He nearly lost his balance and toppled to the ground when one beaver sprang past him, grabbing ahold of the handle at the bottom of the pull-down map hanging in the front of the classroom. The map immediately rolled back up, yanking the beaver to the top of the now-exposed blackboard. Grinning as evilly as a beaver could grin, it popped in a pair of earplugs, and then raked its claws across the blackboard’s surface.

Ford clapped his hands over his ears, concerns about sawdust abandoned, and sprinted for the exit. The other beavers charged after him, frothing at the mouth and wailing in agony from the sound, but he slammed the door behind him, and breathed a sigh of relief that their tiny little beaver hands weren’t quite dextrous enough to maneuver the door handle.

“On to the next… car… then,” he panted as he crossed the next bridge. “Let’s see how much more of this… my eardrums can take…”

***

One pizzeria car, one dance battle car (which Ford was initially skeptical about, but ended up absolutely rocking), and one literal train murder mystery car later, Ford found himself exploring an underground cavern.

“Please refrain from touching the stalactites and stalagmites,” the bat tour guide cheerily informed him, “as the oils from your greasy human skin can damage them. But you’ll see that we’re approaching a small lake, and you will need to use the natural rock formations as stepping stones at that point, unless you want to go for a swim — which I wouldn’t recommend, since the water is only about fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit.”

“Do you get a lot of visitors here?” Ford asked it. “And do any of them prefer actually reasonable temperature systems, like Celsius?”

“Maybe one visitor a week, if I’m lucky,” the bat replied. “The train has plenty of passengers, but also a lot of other attractions besides this humble cave, so they’re spread fairly thin.”

Ford gestured to the number on his hand. “Do all the passengers have numbers like these?”

“Sure do. Not always the same number, though.”

“Do you know what it means?”

“Not a clue. I can tell you all about the geology of this place, though! Lots of famous caves are made of limestone, but this one is actually made of dolomite!”

Crossing the lake wasn’t too difficult, though Ford’s shoes were splashed a few times as he stepped between columns of stone that stood about even with the water level and resembled particularly sturdy lily pads. Even with ice-cold feet, he found that he couldn’t help but smile.

Aside from the beaver car, this train really hadn’t been so bad. He’d much rather spend years learning from supernaturally smart animals than from underpaid professors at Backupsmore — not to mention the breathtaking environments he kept finding himself in, like the crimson forest and this massive cave system. The only thing keeping him from wanting to stay forever was the lack of companionship, with all the train’s inhabitants staying behind in their own cars…

“The door is right up ahead,” the bat chirped in his ear. “Can’t miss it. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay on the train!”

“Do you know how I get off the train?” Ford asked.

“Well, when you reach your destination, of course! Just don’t ask me what yours is, because I don’t know either.”

“Okay. Thanks for the cave facts, this was fun.”

“Anytime!”

As Ford crossed over to the next car, he happened to glance at his right palm:

163

“Wait, it was 166 before! When did it change?”

He rushed back to the cave car, and poked his head back inside. “Hey! Uh, Batty? I didn’t catch your name — but anyways, did you see when my number changed? It dropped three whole points!”

The bat fluttered back towards him. “Hmm. It was definitely 166 back on the other side of the lake. I’m not sure beyond that.”

“Well, I guess that’s better than nothing. Thanks again.”

Ford sighed, as he began walking towards the next car for the second time. “Why wasn’t I paying more attention? That could’ve been a vital clue, but now I only have a vague time interval to go off of…”

He kept rambling to himself as he opened the next door and entered, hardly even paying attention to the contents of the new car. “Was it a vocal trigger? A physical trigger? Either of those I could’ve tested and tried to replicate, if only I was actually recording what I was doing when —”

“No fucking way,” he heard a familiar voice mutter.

Halfway across the car, leaning up against a jagged cliff face, was Stanley.

***

(Endnotes:

Thanks for reading, feedback/reblogs are appreciated as always! The cave car Ford visits is highly inspired by Onondaga Cave in Missouri - look up that cave's "Lily Pad Room," and you'll get a good idea of how Ford crossed that lake.

I have a pretty detailed outline for the remaining chapters, so ideally there won't be any long gaps between updates. It's just a matter of how often I have the time available to transform outline into prose.)

#gravity falls #infinity train #infinity train spoilers #stanford pines #stanley pines #filbrick pines #ma pines #fic: fateful detours #rosalia writes fic

64 notes · View notes

ausblack · 5 years

Text

Who you are | k.nj

➻ Request: “For the hybrid plot you asked for, usually they make the reader go near or live by the woods & meets wolf hybrid namjoon. Instead, you can write about wolf hybrid namjoon going to live in the city for the 1st time to study for uni & meets the reader who’s actually a bear hybrid or such but takes suppressants to hide her scent & disguises her bear ears with cute beanies or hats like a beret. Idk why but I find that cute. He starts to have interest in finding out more about her but she’s vague af.” @it-is-dana

➻ Request: “Something fluffy with Taehyung or Namjoon or Jimin?? Like really, really fluffy( I’m having bad days so yeah:’) )” @all-usernames-are-taken-goddamit

✵ Genre: Fluff, Hybrid!au

✵ Pairings: Wolf Hybrid!Namjoon, Bear Hybrid! Reader

✵ A/N: Sorry for the long wait guys, hopefully you'll enjoy this!

Ever since the law saw a drastic change in regards of how those amazing creatures who take the name of hybrids should be treated, every school, workplace or house opened their doors and gave them the possibility to live just like how any human being should.

Of course, just like in every society, there were close-minded people against this change, who believed that hybrids were nothing more than animals changed in laboratories, but the most part wasn’t like this.

Those who attacked or mistreated hybrids of any kind faced strict punishments and ended up in jail if the crime was big enough.

Associations fought for the right of those few hybrids left without freedom, but other than those cases the situation wasn’t that bad.

Schools even started to hand out college scholarships to hybrids who couldn’t afford a proper education, giving them the possibility to get a proper degree and, later on, a job that could earn them money

That was exactly what happened with Namjoon, and how he found himself moving from his small city placed near the woods, to a farther one – ready to frequent the college of his dreams.

Even though the law changed, wolf hybrids were faced with a couple of problems, along with other predator hybrids who, sometimes, were treated like they could be dangerous.

Namjoon was aware of that, and tried to act and look like the most peaceful and kind hybrid on earth, hoping to escape any mistreatment.

He wasn’t loud, he stayed by himself and he studied hard – spending his evening at the library rather than at parties with other teens.

He always got perfect scores and his teachers loved him because of how hard working he was.

Thanks to that, around the end of his final year in high school, one of Namjoon’s favourite teachers helped him get in contact with the secretary of a prestigious college.

No one was impressed when the admission letter came to his house, in the end the wolf hybrid was known for his high IQ and the amount of study he went through for this moment to happen – but Namjoon wasn’t sure of the result.

He feared that once they found out about what kind of hybrid he was, they wouldn’t let him in.

But, as he then saw, that was not the case.

The day Namjoon moved in his new dorm, he discovered that he actually had a roommate and it was a grumpy cat hybrid called Yoongi.

He was quiet and liked to stay by himself, but he greeted him with a smile on his face when they first introduced each other.

It was awkward at first, especially because Namjoon tended to look for a pack, meanwhile the cat hybrid hated to stay in the same room of more than two people, but he eventually warmed up when Namjoon became friends with other hybrids that he than introduced to him.

The six hybrids became Namjoon’s pack around the first month of college, and he couldn’t get happier than that.

✥✥✥✥

“Are you sure you don’t want to come? You always say no whenever we ask you out.” Taehyung, a fox hybrid with bright red hair and expressive eyes, pouted while grabbing Namjoon’s shirt while whining.

“I have an exam tomorrow, I can’t go out tonight. Why don’t you just hang out without me?” He asked with a small chuckle to the hybrid that was now sitting on the floor.

“Jungkook always leaves me alone when we go and party out, he always flexes around girls as if he was a lion hybrid or something.” Taehyung answered, talking about his best friend as if he was not in the same room.

“That’s not even true.” Jungkook scoffed, looking at the fox from the bed where he was sitting.

“Yeah it is. You’re a bunny Jungkook not a predator. Deal with it.” The two of them continued to bicker while Namjoon stuffed his bag with books that he knew would be useful for his study session.

Yoongi was purring asleep on his bed, while Hoseok, a Labrador-Golden Retriever mix hybrid, played with his tail ignoring the words of discomfort that the cat had said only a couple of minutes before. He always tried to push other people away, but Hoseok knew that he needed a little bit of affection sometimes, and he was the only one who could actually touch Yoongi without earning hisses in response.

Jimin was also a cat hybrid like Yoongi, but a rather sweeter one. He liked to cuddle and play around with the others, sleeping only when he didn’t have any energy to play.

He was looking at the two hybrids bicker while eating the meal that Jin, the older tiger hybrid had prepared for him when he said that he was hungry.

“Are you going to the library?” Jin asked, leaning against the wall and ignoring the insults that Taehyung and Jungkook were throwing at each other.

Namjoon nodded, putting on a coat before picking up his bag.

“Yeah, here it’s a bit noisy.” He said looking at the others and making Jin chuckle.

“See you.” Namjoon said, looking back at his pack before heading out and close the door of his dorm.

✥✥✥✥

The warmth of the library’s heating helped Namjoon defrost his hands, that December’s cold weather had made numb, and with a small sigh, he greeted the lady that sat at the information desk before taking a sit on a table that no one had yet to occupy.

Looking around, Namjoon saw many other hybrids and human students that wrote on their notebooks, or that read books with a highlighter in their hand.

Maybe it was because he grew up spending most of his free time in libraries, but Namjoon seemed to find himself inside one every time he sought peace or comfort.

The smell of books, the sound of paper when a page of a book turned, it relaxed him like nothing else.

Putting his bag on the table, Namjoon started to take the books that he had out, ready to study for the test of philosophy that he was so eager to get over with when a sudden noise caught his attention.

Looking up from the table, he narrowed his eyes at the sight of a girl kneeled on the floor busy picking up a couple of books that she had accidently drop in the aisle full of historical novels.

She was wearing thick clothes and a beanie covered her head.

Her face was red, probably because of the cold outside and she was nibbling nervously on her lip while she got back to her feet.

He tried to take in her scent, to see if you were human or a hybrid just like him, because the beanie made it impossible to see what ears were under it – that’s when you look up.

Your eyes locked with his and you froze on the spot before hugging your books tightly around your chest and walking in front of his table, heading outside of the library without looking at him again.

It was then, when you walked near him, that the strong smell of suppressant came to his nose.

✥✥✥✥

After that unusual encounter, Namjoon couldn’t get you out of his head.

Why would anyone take suppressant to hide their smell, he could tell that the type you were using wasn’t for a heat, because the smell was very distinct.

You were trying to hide your real scent, and that made it impossible to identify your type.

“She is probably taking an enormous quantity of suppressants.” Namjoon said to Yoongi, laying on his bed with arms under his head.

“Was she wearing a beanie?” He asked and Namjoon’s ears peaked up.

“How do you know?” He muttered confused, turning his head to face the cat hybrid who had his eyes closed.

“I think I know who you’re talking about. She’s Y/N. I have her in my history class.”

The days after that, Namjoon started to pick up Yoongi from class, hoping to see you once again.

The cat hybrid seemed unbothered by the wolf’s new habit of waiting for him outside of class, yet he couldn’t help but smirk every time he saw him looking at you with dreamy and curious eyes when you Stood up from your desk to gather all your stuff ready to leave.

“Close your mouth dog, you’re drooling.” He chuckled, before grabbing Namjoon’s arm and pulling him away from the doorframe.

To him it was like a torture, smelling the air around you hoping to sense something, and then smelling nothing other than suppressants – a smell that by now he had started to hate more than anything else.

You always had a beanie to cover up your ears, he always saw you by yourself and Namjoon’s instincts kept telling him to go up to you, throw the beanie away and mark you as his to bring you inside of his pack.

He didn’t know if the interest in you was caused by the curiosity of discovering what you were, or by the infatuation that he felt since the moment you two locked eyes. It was almost an unexplainable attraction that was slowly making him go insane.

“Maybe she’s your mate. I know that wolves believe in that kind of thing.” Jimin said as Namjoon and his friends ate at the cafeteria.

He had felt the need to tell everything to the boys before Yoongi could do it to make fun of him, but they were more than understanding to him.

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t know because she takes too many suppressants, I need to smell her real scent for once.” He grumbled, playing with his food while holding his head with his hand.

“Don’t play with your food. How old are you? Four?” Jin nagged slapping Namjoon’s hand lightly and the wolf sighed, laying down the spoon.

“I’m sorry I just…I don’t know I just can’t get her off my mind. I’ve been thinking about her for weeks now and I don’t understand why.” He cried out and Hoseok laughed.

“For being the smartest hybrid of the whole planet, you’re pretty dumb.” Jungkook said and the others chuckled.

“You like her, it’s not that difficult to understand.” Jimin said and Namjoon looked at him for a couple of seconds before going back to his food.

“I guess you’re right…” He muttered, but Taehyung’s sudden excitement recalled his attention from the food.

“You know what you should do? Come to the party with us tonight! You’ll have fun and you can also take your mind off for a couple of hours!” Namjoon thought about it for a bit.

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea.”

✥✥✥✥

It was definitely a bad idea.

As soon as he went inside the house were the party was held, Namjoon felt a mixture of scents that made his head spin.

He could tell that there were hybrids of all kinds inside the house, and humans to no end.

Some hybrids were even in heat, but he had enough control to walk away from whoever threw himself at him.

People were smoking, drinking, dancing and just making a mess.

The boys where nowhere to be seen, except from Yoongi who had decided to stay at the dorm and Hoseok who opted for staying there with him.

Namjoon found himself alone after an hour inside the house and, feeling his ears hurt because of the loud music, he decided to just stay outside and take a look around.

To his surprise, he wasn’t the only one who had that idea and his blood almost froze when he saw you sitting on the grass outside the house.

He stayed still for a moment, unsure of what to do, but she seemed to notice that someone was looking at her and turned around.

“Hi.” Namjoon muttered, before wanting to slap himself in the face for the awkwardness.

You hesitated before replying back.

“Hi.”

“Do you mind me being here? I can find another place if you want.” The wolf asked, feeling his ears twitch in embarrassment and she hesitated once again.

Namjoon took it as a sign that she wanted to stay by herself and turned around, ready to go back inside, but her voice came to his ears.

“You can stay, I don’t mind.”

Smiling faintly at the sweet sound of her voice, Namjoon took place beside her and sat on the grass.

The smell of suppressants was still strong but he sensed something else about you, a strong aura.

“My name is Namjoon.” He introduced himself to you and gave you a hand to shake.

You replied with a smile and shook it back.

“I’m Y/N.”

He felt like he was in heaven just by staying next to you. Maybe the boys weren’t wrong about the whole mate thing.

“I see you also don’t enjoy partying that much.” She chuckled and Namjoon nodded.

“My friend forced me to come.” She added and he listened with attention, feeling like this was a moment to remember.

“My friends left me by myself, plus I don’t really like the whole atmosphere neither.” This was her time to nod and a small moment of silence resounded between the two of them.

Namjoon didn’t know what was happening inside his head at the moment, but for some kind of reason he felt like the control that he was so proud of having disappeared.

“I really like you.” He blurted out and you widened your eyes at the sudden outburst.

“I’m sorry, I know that its soon and we literally just met but I remember when I saw you at the library and…I don’t know, something inside me just snapped.” You looked at his embarrassed face for a bit, not knowing what to said before speaking up.

“I don’t even know you.” You smiled at him as those words came out of your mouth and he smiled back, chuckling lightly.

“I’m Namjoon, I just moved here this hear from a city that no one knows and that was nice for me only because it has nice woods. I’m a wolf hybrid although I don’t act like it, I’m nice and I’ve never acted like a predator before in my life. I never get mad and I try to be sweet to everyone I know. I prefer sour over sweet and, although I’m a wolf, I prefer fish over meat. I can’t stay alone for too much time and I have my own pack formed of other six hybrids. I was a loser when I was younger because I refused to go out with other kids, I studied and I basically lived inside my school’s library. I feel calm when I’m inside one and I love the smell of books because they remind me of home. That’s why I felt my heart flutter when I first saw you, you felt like home too even though I’ve never saw you before.” You smiled widely as he talked about himself and you felt your heart warmer when he confessed what he felt about you. Namjoon felt lightly scared when he finished talking, and you could smell that from him.

“Nice to meet you Namjoon.” You chuckled, looking at his eyes glitter.

“Would you like to maybe, go out for a coffee tomorrow?” You asked him and he widened his smile, nodding at your question.

“I need to go now but, I’ll see you tomorrow after class.” You stood up from the grass, holding your beanie before smiling back at him once again and walking away from where you were sitting before – leaving Namjoon starstrucked.

✥✥✥✥

“So you have a date?” Taehyung asked and Namjoon stuttered.

“I-I don’t know. She just said that we should meet up but maybe she doesn’t intend it like that.”

“Dude you literally confessed your love to her after you met her, another girl would have run away as far as possible.” Jungkook joked, but Namjoon didn’t feel like smiling back.

“Maybe I went overboard, I don’t know I feel like she just did it to be nice.” He muttered and Hoseok looked down at his watch.

“Well, History class finished two minutes ago, you should hurry up.”

Widening his eyes, Namjoon started to cuss and he ran out of the dorm – leaving his pack’s laughs behind.

He hurried down the corridors of the college, ready to greet you outside of class and hoping that you’d still be waiting for him in front of the door, but the scene in front of him wasn’t quite what he was expecting.

You were there, but you weren’t alone and those guys around you didn’t look like they were your friends.

“C’mon, just take the damn hat off.” One of them snapped and Namjoon recognized him from his calculus class, he was a hybrid as well – a dog one.

“Go away.” You struggled to walk away from them, having another one to block you from moving away.

“I can smell your suppressants from miles away, are you that disgusted of being a hybrid? Take this fucking beanie off.” Namjoon felt his blood boil at what those fuckers were saying, so he decided that for once, he should’ve followed his instincts.

“Hey!” He called out for them and walked towards you.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The dog hybrid laughed, already knowing who Namjoon was.

“Namjoon just piss off, you might ruin your sweet façade.” He laughed but a low growl from Namjoon’s throat made him widen his eyes.

“Go away before I snap your throat.” He growled and you looked at him in shock.

Namjoon’s authority made the others back off, feeling victims of his dominance, and they left you alone in seconds.

“I..” You tried to speak, feeling far too overwhelmed.

“I thought you said that you’ve never act like a predator.” You said looking at him in the eyes.

“Are you okay?” He ignored your words and took your hand in his.

“C’mon.” He pulled you out of the corridor, walking outside of the school and he seated you in a bench, taking place next to you.

“Maybe you need to take a bit of fresh air.” He said sweetly and you nodded, not used to this amount of care.

“I was in a shelter as a child.” You said and he looked at you surprised.

“What?”

“They kept me in a shelter and I got freed only when I was sixteen.” You said, now looking at him in the eyes.

“I don’t…” Namjoon muttered and you cut him with your words.

“It’s the reason why I hide my ears and my scent. I was scared of being found again.” You confessed and he seemed to understand more.

“I thought that shelters were considered illegal.”

“They are, they found a way to hide me and keep me and other hybrids away from pro-hybrid associations.” You said and you felt Namjoon’s hand caressing your own.

“I just grew feeling embarrassed of it, I wanted to be treated normally.” You continued, feeling teary eyed and Namjoon scoot closer to you – wrapping his tail around your leg in comfort.

“You’re free now. You don’t have to be scared of who you are.” He said slowly, keeping his hands on your own and you sniffled.

Moving your hands on your hat, you slowly took off your beanie – revealing your ears to Namjoon who looked at them stunningly.

“Can I?” You nodded and with a hand, he caressed them with care and delicacy.

“What are you?” He asked and you smiled at his surprised face.

“A bear.” Saying it felt like taking off a massive weight from your shoulders.

For a moment you felt scared of his reaction, but you relaxed when his words came out of his mouth.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He muttered and, feeling like it was the best thing to do, you slowly cupped his face and leaned in gently, and kissed his warms lips - feeling a rush of adrenaline in your whole body.

Namjoon moved his hands around your waist and he held you closer, kissing you back and squeezing lightly your side.

He didn’t need to smell your scent to know that you were his mate.

1K notes · View notes